Falling Dreams
by joemoe93
Summary: The Trio are back at Hogwarts for their final year of school after Voldemort's downfall. Harry tries to piece things back together after suffering memory loss. Post-DH, ignores epilogue. Here there be smut. Now complete. Prequel coming in near future.
1. Prologue

The Clock Tower at Hogwarts struck eleven, each great toll rolling across the silent, moonlit grounds. Most students were in bed, professors tucked away or patrolling the corridors. In the Infirmary, two figures whispered animatedly in the dark, trying not to wake the patient, knowing he would not be woken regardless. Their voices carried a renewed, quiet desperation, one that had not been felt since the downfall of the greatest threat the wizarding community had ever seen.

"What will we do, Poppy? If the boy doesn't recover, that is?" said the first.

"Hush, now, Minerva," said the other. "He's hardly a boy anymore. Not after what he's been through. Not after what he's done. He will be okay, I can promise you."

"The injury, though—are you quite sure you can fix him here?"

"Of course. Taking him to St Mungo's is unnecessary and you know well enough the disturbance it would cause."

"Yes, I... I know." She sighed heavily. "And I trust your skills wholeheartedly. I just worry about him, you know."

The other woman patted her tentatively on the back. "He should be waking up in the next twenty-four hours. We can see how he's doing then. For now, we both need to get some rest."

The two departed, leaving the room calm and quiet. The only noise was the deep, even respiration of the unconscious patient, who was completely still. The shadows and moonlight crept slowly around the room, passing over the lone occupied bed, and still he did not move. His breathing filled the room.


	2. Chapter 1

Harry Potter was dreaming.

His dream was a blur of emotion and sensation, mixing exhilaration with acceleration. Images flashed by, of the Snitch and running down Hogwarts corridors and flying on the back of a thestral. In the midst of this assault, he tried to form something coherent, but failed.

In the total absence of lucid thought, he became aware that he was dreaming, and he woke up.

He squinted as he opened his eyes. A golden wash played into his vision, obscuring the already blurry distance. He wasn't wearing his glasses. He felt his palms splayed on fabric on either side of his body and curled his fingers, noticing the texture. He was in a bed in the infirmary.

Slowly, he rolled his head to the left, wincing slightly as a muscle in his neck was stretched. There seemed to be a sort of grey-and-brown shape positioned next to his bed.

"Her..." Harry tried to speak and found his throat dry. He swallowed and tried again. "Hermione?"

The figure started. "Harry?"

He gave a little smile.

"Oh, Harry—Madam Pomfrey, he's awake!" Hermione shouted.

"Hermione, what—" he cut off when he felt a hand pressing down on his chest.

"Harry, you need to stay still. Quit moving your head so much. Okay?"

"Okay, but what am I doing—"

"Sh... Try to stay awake until Madam Pomfrey can ask you some questions."

"Stay awake? Hermione, I just woke up," Harry said, but even as he spoke, he began to feel tired.

He saw a brilliantly white shape appear next to Hermione. The figure began to speak, but her words sounded muffled, as though she were speaking through a sheet of glass.

"Mr Potter, how are you feeling? Can you hear me? Harry...?"

His eyes fluttered in a vain attempt to stay open, but his ears felt full of honey and he couldn't remember what he was doing. Then he was gone, dreaming once more.

Memories darted through Harry's unconscious mind. He reached out, tried to grab onto them, but they slipped through his fingers, leaving him confused.

He saw the entrance to Platform 9 3/4. He saw the giant squid basking in the shallows of the lake. He saw the Forbidden Forest looming dark and imposing.

He heard Ron's laugh and Hermione's sigh of exasperation. He smelled the Great Hall full of food, savory entrees and sumptuous deserts. He could taste a Sugar Quill and a Chocolate Frog.

He felt the smooth grain of a broomstick in his hands. He felt a sharp point tracing words into the back of his hand. He felt—he felt his scar burning, blazing, searing a line into his brain.

He awoke with a gasp. He could feel his heart pounding and his chest ached with adrenaline. The blur of dark blue and black that met his eyes told him it was nighttime. He twisted his neck, but Hermione was gone.

He noticed a tinkling in the distance and turned to squint at it. He saw a warm glow coming from Madam Pomfrey's office with a shadow moving around. The silhouette moved towards him.

"Good evening, Mr Potter," Madam Pomfrey said. Not waiting for an answer, she gently pressed her wand to his temple and spoke a brief incantation.

"Um, hello..." he said. She pulled her wand back to examine the tip, which had begun to glow. "What does green mean?"

"It means that we should be able to wake you up now. I'll inform Mr Weasley and Miss Granger and have them drop by in the morning, shall I?" she asked.

"Sure," he said, though he didn't know what she had meant by her first statement.

"Excellent. Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?"

"Well..." It struck him that he didn't know why he was in the infirmary. He strained to remember something.

"I don't know. I feel like there's something big in the way. But I can remember coming back to Hogwarts."

"What do you remember about it?"

"There was a Caterwauling Charm on Hogsmeade, and a tunnel... and the Room of Requirement..."

"Oh, dear." Her voice carried a mixture of shock and dismay.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, starting to feel sleepy again.

"Don't worry about it, Mr Potter. I shall be seeing you again soon."

He slept.


	3. Chapter 2

Harry was walking in the Forbidden Forest. The sunlight, filtered through the thick canopy, reached the leaf-strewn floor only in dim, dappled patterns shifting in the breeze. The forest was always much more welcoming in the day, especially near the border where it was thinner, younger.

He passed through a small clearing and had a tingling of deja vu. But as he studied the trees, nothing came to mind.

Suddenly, he had an overwhelming sensation that he was being watched. He whipped around, but no one was there. It was silent but for the great trunks creaking and the leaves rustling in the wind and the birds singing in the distance.

When he turned around, he noticed something small glinting in a patch of sun. He squatted down to look at it. He picked it up. It was a Knut-sized stone with something scratched in the surface. His sense of deja vu was pounding in his head, but still he could recall nothing.

"Time to wake up, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry turned around to see her standing behind him.

"I'm already awake, Hermione," he said, but she ignored him.

"Ha-arry—" she crooned.

Then Ron said, "Come on, mate, wake up."

He opened his eyes.

"Harry!" he heard Ron and Hermione cry.

"Hello," he said. "Can I have my glasses?"

There was a pause. Hermione spoke. "Of course, Harry. They must be back in the dormitory. _Accio glasses_."

"Would you like to sit up, Mr Potter?" said a third voice, which Harry recognized as Madam Pomfrey's.

"Yeah."

Together, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey lifted Harry and propped him against some pillows. His muscles felt a little shaky. Ron stretched out a hand to Harry, and he guessed that his glasses were there. He slipped them on to find three faces peering at him intently.

"What?" he said self-consciously.

"Well, you haven't lost any fine motor control," said Madam Pomfrey. "I didn't think you would."

"Why am I here?" Harry asked, wondering if there was some reason that he might have lost motor skills.

"We will get to that later. For now, we need to address your lost memories," Madam Pomfrey said.

"Harry, what month is it, as far as you know?" Hermione asked.

"Um... May, I think."

She sighed and looked disappointed.

"What month is it, then?" Harry said.

"It's December, Harry," Ron said.

December. He was missing seventh months of his life.

"How can I not remember seventh months?" he asked.

"It's complicated," Hermione said. "We—that is, Madam Pomfrey and I—believe it's a combination of traumatic injury to your brain and a psychological reaction to something else."

"What 'traumatic injury'?"

Ron spoke. "You and I, we were walking outside. It was kind of windy. An icicle fell from the castle and hit you in the back of the neck."

Harry cautiously reached up to feel his neck. It was smooth and unscarred.

"I was able to mend all of the surface injuries," Madam Pomfrey said. "But you had a severe concussion. I put you in a coma to ward off further brain damage. From my examinations, it seemed that only a couple areas of your brain suffered damage, which is why I suspected your motor skills would be as before."

"But the affected areas—they had to do with memory?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

He took a deep breath. "Is it permanent?"

"I believe not. But you may have to be reminded of every single thing that happened to you. Other things may surface in time. However, if you are able to find the root of any psychological response, as Miss Granger suggested, the process will be much easier."

"Do you have any questions, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"If it's December, why are we at Hogwarts? What happened to Voldemort?"

"Voldemort's dead," Ron said. "You duelled him and won."

"But... I wouldn't have cast the Killing Curse on him. Would I?" Harry said tentatively.

"No," Hermione said. "He had the Elder Wand. But you were—you were brilliant, really. You told him how you were the true master of the Wand. He cast the curse. It rebounded and killed him instead."

And Harry remembered. The flash of green light, Voldemort's crumpled form on the ground. But so many other broken bodies, too. He began to remember more. The memories flooded through him.

The Room of Requirement and Dumbledore's Army. Ravenclaw's diadem. The Battle. Snape's death. Harry's death. So much death.

"Fred," Harry whispered, and looked at Ron.

He looked away. "Yeah."

Hermione reached over and wrapped an arm around him. "But we won."

"Why are we still here?"

"A decision was made jointly, between the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts, that all Seventh Years must return to Hogwarts for an additional year of schooling in order to graduate. There were too many disruptions and too much interference for last year's education to count for much," Madam Pomfrey explained.

Harry was starting to feel sleepy once more. "Why am I so tired?"

"A complication arising from the brain damage, I'm afraid. It will pass with time."

He yawned and slumped down. He asked one last question before closing his eyes. "How long have I been here?"

As he fell back to sleep and someone removed his glasses, he heard Hermione's faint words: "Nearly three weeks."

Another pair of figures stood talking in the Infirmary, a different couple than before. They stood a distance away from the occupied bed as though afraid of being overheard.

"I thought you said you cured his vision," said the younger of the two.

"And so I did. I did not lie to you. His continued poor vision must be a psychosomatic reaction, undoubtedly with the same root cause as the memory loss," said the other.

"Do we tell him?"

"No. Telling him would only put him under undue stress to resolve his issues. We can only hope that he will be able to heal himself. Until then, ignorance will be his bliss."

Across the castle, in a small office, was another pair. The older of the two sat behind a desk; the other stood with clenched fists.

The former sighed before speaking. "The memory loss was more extensive than we had hoped."

"So?"

"He doesn't remember anything—not a single thing—that happened since the second of May."

"The Battle."

"Yes."

The standing figure stared out the window over the snowy castle courtyard. "So he doesn't remember me. At least not the way he should."

"No. He may, eventually, but for now we think it wise for you to keep your distance. Once we have reconstructed his memories sufficiently, we hope your appearance will spark more recollection."

"I can't... I can't even see him?"

McGonagall exhaled heavily. "I'm afraid not. We can't risk him waking and being unnecessarily... agitated... by your presence."

There was a long silence.

"This isn't easy for any of us, you know."

A pause.

"You are dismissed."


	4. Chapter 3

Harry was walking on Hogwarts' grounds again. He was on the bank of the lake opposite the castle, where students rarely ventured. The late autumn breeze blew through the long grass and threatened to turn the warm day chilly.

A hand was entwined with his own, but the sun seemed to blot out the other person's face whenever Harry tried to look. And he was happy.

The couple strolled along the bank, talked, lied in the grass to look at the clouds. Their hands separated only to caress.

The scene shifted flawlessly. They were lying on a bed. They were kissing while their hands were stroking, feeling.

Suddenly, the image disappeared. Harry took a breath and opened his eyes again. He looked over and saw Madam Pomfrey standing next to his bed.

"Ah, Mr Potter, I see you're awake."

"I suppose. What time is it?"

"About nine o'clock PM. I roused you for a minute so I could show you this." Madam Pomfrey brandished a journal with a pencil.

"It's a dream journal. I want you to keep a record of all the dreams you can remember. Some of them may be linked to buried memories."

He took the journal.

"It, ah, appears that you were dreaming before I woke you, so by all means, write it down."

Harry looked down and saw the sheets were tented from his sensual dream. His face began to burn with embarrassment.

"Not to worry, Mr Potter. I'm a nurse," she reminded him. "I'd give you a Galleon if you could find something that shocked me."

Ignoring this, he opened the journal and began to record what he could recall of the dream. When he was finished, he looked up to find Madam Pomfrey still standing, studying him with a carefully blank face.

"Very well. I'll put it on the nightstand. I want it to be the first thing you do when you wake up," she said. Noticing his drooping eyelids, she took her leave.

"Good night."

"Good night."

In the morning, Harry woke when the sunlight hit his face. But try as he might, he could not remember any dreams from the night.

So he decided to try to remember other things. He started with the Battle of Hogwarts. He compiled a list of the dead, starting out with those most dear to him: Fred, Remus, and Tonks. There was Colin Creevey. Voldemort and Bellatrix, though they were significant for other reasons. Snape.

Harry sighed. He wasn't sure what to make of Snape. Snape who had turned out to be pivotal in the final struggle. Snape who had bullied Harry relentlessly for all those years. Snape who had... loved Harry's mother.

Harry thought of Teddy Lupin. Orphaned, just like Harry. Parents killed because of Voldemort, if not by him. Unlike Harry, he would grow up in the wizarding world. He wouldn't be famous for the rest of his life. He would never have to watch as his godfather was killed in front of him.

Harry's reverie was broken by his stomach gurgling. He was hungry. He wondered briefly how they had kept him nourished while he was unconscious. As if on cue, he heard a voice coming from the entryway.

"Harry, you're up! Good. I brought food."

Harry recognized Ron's voice and grabbed his glasses from the nightstand.

"Ron, you are amazing," he said, grabbing the breakfast tray.

"How're you feeling?" Ron asked.

"Good," Harry said before digging into the food.

Several minutes later, when Harry moved on to downing his glass of juice, Ron spoke again.

"Hermione has class right now, but she figured I should come up here to see if you'd be awake. She thinks we need to work on restoring your memory every time you're awake. So do you have any more questions?"

Harry thought while he wiped his mouth. "Doesn't the fact that we three defeated Voldemort count towards our education at all?"

Ron laughed. "Of course. They'd have given you a diploma the next day if you'd asked for it. If anything, you're more popular now than you were the first time you bested him."

"Then why are we at school instead of training to be Aurors or something?"

"Actually," Ron said, "they did give us a choice."

"But...?"

"One word: Hermione."

And Harry started to remember. "Oh. Of course she would choose to study here and finish her education properly. But what about you and me?"

"Well... I had to come with her, didn't I?"

"You did?" said Harry, surprised.

Ron looked a little uncomfortable. "Harry. Think about the day of the Battle."

He thought for a while. Of course. "The kiss."

Ron gave a little smirk, half self-confidence and half gratitude. "Yeah. We've been together since."

"Congrats, mate."

"Thanks. And you said, if Hermione and I were going back—"

"—it didn't feel right for you to go without me," Harry finished. He remembered.

"Yeah," Ron said, looking pleased at Harry's recollection.

There was a little pause.

"Wasn't the castle torn apart, though?" Harry asked.

"There was a lot of damage," Ron said. He pulled a small roll of parchment out of his pocket. "I think Hermione wrote about it in here."

He handed the roll to Harry. "Since we found out how much memory you lost, she wrote an account of what happened in the world those months. As for Hogwarts... Basically, all the old wizarding families pulled together and donated a lot of money to repair the damage. It was all fixed over the summer."

Harry looked at the parchment. "Ron, you are a lucky man."

"Believe me, I know."


	5. Chapter 4

After taking a short nap, Harry read through the parchment. Despite only having a couple days, Hermione had managed to write several feet of small print on the events since May 2nd. As he read, he remembered knowing most of the facts before. At least he had a framework for his life now. The next step was to figure out how he fit into everything that had gone on.

Hermione seemed to have similar thoughts, because she and Ron returned that afternoon. This time she didn't offer to answer questions; instead, she and Ron took turns talking about all the little tidbits of their lives that Harry was missing—Hermione was planning on studying magical medicine, Ron had taken over the Quidditch team in Harry's absence, and, most startling, Harry had been asked to help teach Defence Against the Dark Arts alongside Kingsley.

When Harry started to feel fatigued again, they departed, leaving him momentarily satisfied with how his recovery was progressing. He was tired enough to sleep through the night.

That night, with a multitude of reawakened memories swimming in his subconscious, Harry dreamt vividly.

In one of these dreams, he was standing in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He looked at the crowd of young faces staring at him—they were First Years. Most of them knew little about Voldemort's regime, only what little their parents had told to comfort them and the older students to scare them. A lump rose in Harry's throat. He knew that they would never face the horrors he had. And he envied them.

He taught them a short background of DADA. The students' faces were caricatures of shock and disbelief when he brushed over all the different times and ways he'd had to defend himself. He could feel that he was going to be one of their favourite professors.

When Harry woke in the morning feeling refreshed, he wrote this dream in his journal. He wondered if that incident had actually occurred or if it was a conglomeration of feelings and other associations of teaching the young students.

Once again, Ron showed up with food. Once Harry was done eating, he shared his dream.

"That certainly sounds like you, Harry," Ron said. "The kids love you. My guess is that your dream is pretty similar to reality."

Harry smiled at the novelty of being a favourite professor. He wasn't even out of school yet! He was wary of sharing the other dream with Ron, however. While any actual events obviously hadn't occurred exactly like that, he suspected that the other person was Ginny. He thought it rather crass to discuss such sensual matters with Ginny's brother.

"Erm, Harry... Do you remember anything else from this school year? Anything at all?"

Harry wondered if Ron had something specific in mind. "Not particularly. Why? Was there something important?"

Ron paused and looked away.

"Well, sort of... Technically, I'm not supposed to talk about it yet, but... Thing is, you seem ready to remember a lot."

"I am ready," Harry said. This was odd.

Ron was lost in thought for a few moments. This was _really_ odd. "Okay, Harry. I'd better get to class. See you later."

Harry decided to take a nap, since he had nothing else to do. His sleep was untroubled by dreams, pleasant or otherwise.

When he woke, he saw two blurry shapes standing near the foot of his bed. He snagged his glasses and slipped them on, starting when he looked down.

"Wh—what is _he_ doing here?" he asked Ron, pointing.

"Hello, Harry," Malfoy said evenly. His face was controlled, obviously so.

Harry.

"Since when do you call me by my first name?" Harry asked, shaken.

"I thought you liked to be called 'Harry...'" Malfoy said.

"Harry, please. Be nice," Ron pleaded.

Ron, asking him to be nice to _Malfoy_? This was beyond bizarre. It was almost scary.

"Ron, what's going on? Why are you and Malfoy getting along? Why is he here?"

Malfoy's nostrils flared ever so slightly. He turned away from Harry and muttered at Ron. "I told you this was a bad idea. He doesn't remember anything."

"I'm sorry. He just—he seemed so lucid," Ron said.

"I'm right here!" Harry reminded them. "I can hear you!"

Malfoy glanced back at Harry with an unreadable expression. "Good bye."

He left the room with his signature, sweeping stride.

"Ron?" Harry ventured.

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he heard a voice radiating from the corridor. Harry couldn't hear what was being said, but it was being said lividly, and by Hermione.

"Shit," Ron said with a sigh. "I'll be back later, Harry."

He left the infirmary. Harry winced when the shouts increased in volume. But the shock of seeing Malfoy had exhausted him. He slipped his glasses off and curled up under the covers of the bed. It didn't take him long to drift off to sleep.

His dreams were troubled. Again, they were abstract, leaving Harry reeling. A series of images raced through: Sirius collapsing through the curtain, himself on a broom diving for the Snitch, an icicle coming loose and plunging at the ground. His sensation of vertigo and acceleration towards the ground wrenched his stomach and woke him abruptly.

He gasped and found himself clenching his twisted sheets. He grabbed the journal and his wand from the nightstand; casting _lumos_, he hastily scrawled the dream down before it evanesced. It seemed important somehow, even though it wasn't a single, cohesive memory.

As the adrenaline wore off, fatigue gripped him again. Harry realized that it was still late at night. He extinguished his light and went back to sleep, but dreamt no more of falling.


	6. Chapter 5

Hermione was still furious with Ron the next day, though she refused to say why. It clearly had to do with Malfoy's surprise appearance, but Harry wasn't sure why it had made her so angry. Harry simply felt confused.

Hermione, however, chose to channel her emotion into other things. After badgering Madam Pomfrey for several minutes, she eventually convinced the nurse that Harry was ready to get some exercise.

Surprisingly, while his muscles felt stiff, after walking around the Infirmary several times, Harry felt much better and not nearly as worn out as he thought he would. Apparently, the mental exercise was far more draining than the physical. When he had stretched his legs sufficiently, he returned to sit on the bed and talk to Ron and Hermione. Again, they gave him little tidbits that he had known before.

As the afternoon stretched into evening, Madam Pomfrey approached them.

"Excellent news, Mr Potter. After tonight, you should be able to return to your dormitory."

Harry felt a little trepidation at the thought of returning to life as usual—at least, returning to life outside the Infirmary. He wasn't sure how his memory loss was going to affect his classes, his friendships, even his teaching.

Ron seemed to catch on to this anxiety. "Hey, that's great! Harry, did I tell you? Because of the unusual number of students in the dormitories, they've moved some of us '8th years' into suites higher up in Gryffindor Tower. You and I have got a room to ourselves."

Harry smiled at Ron's effort, but in truth felt better knowing that he'd have someplace to retreat to if he was overwhelmed. "Great."

When Harry began yawning, the other two excused themselves, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Lying on his back and staring at the ceiling, Harry simply mulled over all the newly remembered information he'd been given. The transition to sleep was seamless.

In an odd sort of symmetry, Harry also woke gradually and without any sharp realizations. He could see the line of the sun inching across the sheets towards his eyes and knew he had minutes before he caught a face-full of bright, golden morning light. He struggled in vain to summon any dreams to his mind. Despite the disappointing lack of memory recovery, Harry felt ready to face the day ahead.

Soon enough, Ron and Hermione arrived to take Harry to breakfast. Ron brought a set of clothes for him, as he had been wearing his pajamas in the Infirmary. When the three got to the Great Hall, there was an abundance of whispers directed at Harry, but he had become accustomed to those years ago. With a few "glad to see you again"s from his fellow Gryffindors, he sat down and dug into breakfast.

The conversation around him gradually returned to normal as people lost interest in his anticlimactic reappearance. Harry was grateful for the seemingly endless supply of food on the table. Sleeping for weeks had caused him to lose some weight and he ate as though he intended to gain it back in one sitting.

Hermione and Ron were chatting about something in the Daily Prophet. Harry wasn't really paying attention, so when he looked up from his plate, he scanned the crowd opposite him. Then his eyes seemed to snag on someone else's gaze. What was odd, though, was that Malfoy did not break eye contact when Harry caught him staring.

Harry studied the Slytherin, but the distance made any close reading difficult. Yet he felt as though he could see right into that pair of smoky grey eyes.

Finally, Harry dropped his gaze. He wanted to know what was going on and he was willing to bet his friends would humor him more than usual because of his memory.

"Hermione," Harry said.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Why did you get so mad when you realized Malfoy had been in the infirmary?"

Hermione glanced at Ron, but only her suddenly tightened grip on her fork revealed her shift in temper. "I didn't want him to... startle you while you were recovering."

"Mmhmm," Harry conceded. "And?"

"And what?"

"What else? I could hear you shouting from my bed, Hermione. There was something well beyond not wanting him to 'startle' me."

Hermione carefully finished chewing her food before responding.

"I believe..." She sighed. "I believe that he is linked to your memory loss and I was afraid he would send you into shock or possibly even cause you to lose what memory you had regained."

"Why do you think he's linked?" Harry asked. No one responded.

"Well?"

"It doesn't matter, Harry. The best course of action now is for you to move on with your life. Fiddle with your memories too much and you may end up unearthing something that hurts you more than it helps." She paused before she finished.

"Maybe some things are best left forgotten."

That set Harry thinking. It wasn't like Hermione to just decide things for him. Usually, she would present him with the facts alongside her own opinion before letting him choose for himself.

"Where did I leave things with Ginny?" Harry asked suddenly.

This time, Hermione's glance was reciprocated by Ron.

"You sort of... went your separate ways," Ron said. "No hard feelings or anything."

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Anyways. We'd better finish up. We have Charms in a few minutes," Hermione said.

When they all stood up to leave, Ron spoke. "Oh, you know what, Hermione? Harry's things are still in the dormitory. I'll go and get them with Harry. You can save us seats."

"Don't be silly, Ronald. There are only a few people in that class. We never have trouble finding seats."

Harry got the sense that Hermione was trying to stop Ron from being alone with him for too long. This intrigued him.

"Oh, go on, Hermione. Ron and I can manage," he said.

She pursed her lips in a well-practiced mimicry of McGonagall. "Fine."

Harry and Ron headed for Gryffindor Tower and Hermione for Professor Flitwick's classroom.

"So," Harry said as they walked. "Tell me what's going on."

Ron sighed. "I can't, Harry. Even though I disagree with Hermione, I can't just tell you. It wouldn't make sense and it probably would end up hurting you, like she said."

"Then why did you want to talk to me alone?"

"Because Hermione is wrong about one thing. You can't just let your memories go. You _need_ to remember. You just have to work it out for yourself."

"Why does this matter so much to you? Why do you disagree with Hermione so strongly?"

"I can't tell you that, either. But I can tell you this: If I wasn't with Hermione now, after all these years, I don't think I would disagree with her."

They were silent the rest of the way. Harry was deep in thought. Ron's last statement was rather enigmatic for the usually blunt redhead. To Harry it seemed to be about more than Ron's previous tendency to kiss up to Hermione by agreeing with her.

It seemed more like... he wouldn't have had the heart to disagree with her. Or maybe that he wouldn't have disagreed with her at all. It was as though being with Hermione gave Ron a hope that he wouldn't have had without her.

But what did Harry's memories have to do with love?


	7. Chapter 6

After a long day of frustrating half-memories and a pervading sense that he was missing more than he could ever account for or regain, Harry was ready to retire to the Common Room with Ron and Hermione. Unfortunately for him, at dinner he was handed a note by a younger student who stared at him in awe before turning on his heel and scampering away. Harry opened the note

_Your presence in the Headmistress's office is requested at soonest convenience._

Harry wondered and realized that McGonagall must have taken over the position after Dumbledore—and Snape.

He excused himself from his friends before leaving the table and heading for the Headmistress's office.

When he arrived at the gargoyle, he was stumped by the fact that he didn't have the password.

"Erm, I have a note?" he said.

The gargoyle was impassive.

Harry's thoughts went back to the very first password he ever heard, and on an impulse, he said, "Sherbet lemon."

The gargoyle sprang aside. Harry entered, thinking that McGonagall must miss Dumbledore just as much as he did.

He knocked on the office door and opened it upon hearing a slightly muffled "Enter."

"Good evening, Mr Potter. I trust you're feeling better?"

"Hello, Prof—Headmistress. Honestly, I'm exhausted. But I am glad to be out of the Infirmary."

"Excellent." McGonagall gestured for Harry to take a seat. "Would you like some tea or a biscuit?"

"No, thank you."

She smiled. "This feels oddly familiar."

Harry gave a small grin when he remembered being coerced into a biscuit after standing up to Umbridge.

McGonagall continued. "I think I'll have a cup myself."

She poured a cup from a kettle that had already been steeping. There was a short silence as she stirred in milk and sugar and took a sip.

"Now, then, Potter. Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?"

"Not really, ma'am."

She sighed and sipped her tea again.

"Aside from your triumphal return to society today, you have been absent from the public eye for roughly three weeks now. I know that your memory may not allow you the best perspective of this, Potter, but know this: If you were iconic after You-Know-Who's first defeat, you are five times that now, freshly in the aftermath of his rise to power. You are a rallying point among families and communities that have not been united since the Goblin Wars.

"To have you suddenly vanish off the face of the Earth is, quite frankly, terrifying and confusing for much of the public."

Harry soaked this information while McGonagall returned to her tea. Then he asked, "I understand that. What do you want from me now?"

The Headmistress, already grey hair starting to flow white at the temples, gave a heavier sigh and was quiet for a minute. With her wrinkled—but still deft and steady—hands, she poured herself another cup of tea. Her face, normally carefully under control, was troubled as she stirred the steaming liquid.

"Potter—" she started. "Harry. Allow me to be frank."

At this she set down her saucer and gave Harry a signature, piercing gaze, full of sincere intentions.

"I can still remember that day, 17 years ago, when our dear Hagrid brought you, sleeping swaddled in a blanket, to Privet Drive. Dumbledore, perceptive and brilliant as he ever was, told us that no child in the wizarding world would grow up ignorant of your name. He was right. He will be right for many, many years to come.

"Ten years later, you showed up on Hogwarts' doorstep, underfed and clueless about the darkness of the world around you." McGonagall hesitated. "By Merlin, I don't know when I got so sentimental.

"I watched you, of course, as everyone did. I watched you grow up. I daresay I am still watching you grow up. And I, like nearly everyone looking at an precocious, endearing child, wanted what was best for you."

Another sigh.

"You-Know-Who—Voldemort—had other plans. So every decision for and about you had to be made while weighing your interests against those of our entire world. A heavy burden for anyone, let alone a child.

"And so it is with this burden weighing heavy as ever that I asked you to come to me today."

McGonagall seemed older than she ever had before, fixing Harry with her steady gaze. He could quite nearly see this burden wrapped around her shoulders in thick, metal chains.

"I still want what's best for you, boy. Know that. But for the sake of our still-healing community, I have to ask a favour of you. Yes, a favour. You are under no obligation to follow my advice.

"I must ask you to put the recovery of our world at the forefront of your interests. I know there are things from these past six months that you are missing from your mind. I am asking you to put these things aside in the interests of creating a future more full of hope and unity than the past we've had.

"Do you understand what I'm asking?"

"Yes," Harry said slowly. He understood, but he felt more confused than ever. Why should his past be contrary to the interests of the community?

McGonagall rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Consider it, Potter.

"You are dismissed."


	8. Chapter 7

When Harry went back to Gryffindor Tower, he decided to refrain from telling Ron and Hermione what McGonagall had told him. He already knew what they would say: Hermione would agree and Ron would disagree.

He joined them on an overstuffed couch in front of the fireplace, in which an invitingly warm fire crackled quietly. They were hunched over a table, discussing their latest Charms homework, and seemed to be having some serious disagreements over wandless household spells.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said, glancing up.

"Hey."

"So, what did McGonagall want?" Ron asked.

"Oh, nothing important. She just wanted to see how I was doing," Harry said.

"Mmm." Then the other two were silent for a minute while they studied the parchment in front of them.

Harry relaxed on the couch, feeling the warmth of the fireplace ease away the chill of the hallways. Despite Ron and Hermione's distraction, it felt good just to lie back and enjoy their always comforting presence. He glanced around the Common Room and something caught his eye.

"Um, guys?" he said.

"Yeah?" Ron said.

"Is there something going on between Luna and Neville?"

Ron and Hermione followed his gaze across the room to where the aforementioned pair were sitting next to a wall, across a small table from each other. They had solemn expressions as they sat leaned forward in their chairs, foreheads pressed together and maintaining steady eye contact. Occasionally, their lips would move in a whisper, but it was utterly impossible to tell what they were talking about.

Hermione smiled. "Yes. They've been a couple since shortly after the Battle."

"Oh." And Harry started to remember.

They had been working together heavily during the internal struggle against Voldemort's grip on Hogwarts. They had both fulfilled their roles in the resistance, rising to lead as star students of Harry's DADA lessons of fifth year. When they started dating, it hadn't really been a surprise to anyone, though that they seemed to work so well together was. Somehow, Luna's head in the clouds and excellent skills of observation combined well with Neville's slight social ineptitude and passion for the physical, like Herbology. Harry always figured they sort of... pulled each other in opposite directions and ended up in the middle.

Harry looked over and found Hermione watching him. "Do you remember?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I do."

The cheery, warm popping of the fire filled the silence comfortably.

A great snake uncoiled itself in Harry's dreams. Malicious and heavy, it slid across the ground towards him. He was standing, paralyzed. It was going to eat him.

He strained his fingers and toes, tried to tip himself out of the way, but he was frozen. The snake whispered to him, but the hisses rang hollow in Harry's ears. He could see venom glistening on the snake's front fangs.

Then, a figure jumped in front of him, a figure with a burning hat and a sword. The blade glinted in the air as it swung in a fated arc, cleanly removing the snake's head. A horrible, unearthly shriek rattled Harry's ears.

His heart thudded and he opened his eyes the barest of slits. A woman was kneeling over his prostrate form, obscuring his face. His breathing was shallow, his body limp but under his control.

"Is _he_ in the castle?" she breathed, hand on his neck.

Harry woke up.

Cool light filtered in through Harry's windows from outside, where the grey sky suggested snowfall would come soon. The grounds already had a fair dusting of snow sitting on the grass and flagstones, but winter didn't start at Hogwarts properly until there was at least a foot of snow at ground level.

Harry gazed out the window from his bed, trying to remember what had woken him. Eventually the sensation of having something to remember slipped from him and he gave up.

At breakfast, the dull light gave the morning a subdued feeling. Even as Harry sat at the breakfast table, small, soft flakes began dancing down from the clouds above. The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall gave the illusion that the snow fell through the rafters before fading away above the floating candles. The snow fell lightly at first but promised to get heavier as the day went on.

After breakfast, the Trio had Transfiguration with those Slytherins and Hufflepuffs who chose to take it at NEWT level—the Ravenclaws had a class of their own.

"Ah, Mr Potter," said McGonagall when they arrived at the classroom. "I suspect you will have some catching up to do, so I have written a list of spells and background reading for you to do. You may work separate from the class until you have remastered these skills."

She handed him a long piece of parchment, upon which was written a list of at least fifty incantations to practice and chapters to read.

"Great," Harry muttered. Flitwick had simply told him to practice the previous spells in the book in his own time.

"Shit," Harry said. "Ron, d'you remember where my book is? I don't have it with me and it wasn't with my other books in the room."

Ron thought for a second. "Sorry, mate. No clue."

"Bollocks." Harry buried his face in his hands.

"Looking for this?"

Harry peeked up at the person addressing him. It was Malfoy. He stood just beyond arms reach from Harry and he was holding out a copy of the Transfiguration book. Harry cautiously took the book and opened it to the inside cover. _Property of Harry Potter._

"How did you get this?" Harry said incredulously.

"I—found it," Malfoy said with the faintest hesitation. "In the library."

Malfoy was giving him a strange look.

"Why didn't you just leave it there?" Harry asked.

"Would you ever have remembered where it was?" Malfoy shot back. "It could have rotted away before you went back there and found it. Besides, I was planning on giving it to you the next day, but that was when... you had your accident."

"Well, thanks."

Malfoy turned and went to a seat across the room. Harry retreated to the back of the classroom to work out of the flow of the class. Studying the list, he noticed some of it looked vaguely familiar, but when he tried the first spell, he had little success.

He opened his book to the first incantation and began to read. When he turned the page, a note in the corner sprang out at him. _Re-imagine, don't re-create._

In his mind's eye, he saw a sharp quill tracing those letters onto the page, and he knew it would work. It wasn't his quill, but he didn't stop to wonder whose it was.

He flipped back to the first page, which listed the incantation for turning a stone into a fish and back again. Turning to the practice stone he'd found in a cupboard, he looked at it critically, imagining every curve to be a fin or a scale. When the stone had transformed in his mind, he muttered the spell, and suddenly there was a fish flopping on his desk.

He hadn't thought that far ahead. He needed something he could fill with water. When he looked up, he saw a small glass bowl floating towards him. He grabbed it, filled it with water from his wand, and scooped the fish into it. Once the fish was safely in the water, he looked up again.

He found Malfoy gazing at him from across the room. When he had caught his eye, Malfoy raised his wand and pointed it carefully in Harry's direction. He mouthed a word. Harry heard a clink from the glass bowl. The fish was gone; it its place, a small stone was lying on the bottom of the bowl.

Harry wasn't sure whether he should be angry that he had undone his hard work or grateful that he provided a bowl. Malfoy held Harry's gaze for a moment longer, but when Harry didn't react, he turned back to his work.

After class, Harry related this incident to Hermione and Ron.

"He was just trying to antagonize you, Harry," Hermione said.

Ron disagreed. "I think he was, erm, for whatever reason, trying to be nice. Why else would he give you the bowl?"

"Why else would he undo Harry's Transfiguration if he didn't want to prove something about his superiority?" Hermione asked.

Harry backed out of the conversation and allowed the other two to bicker as they headed to lunch.

After they had finished eating, Harry announced that he was going to see Hagrid. Ron and Hermione stayed at the castle, having seen him earlier in the week, while Harry was knocked out. Harry headed out into the swirling snow, bundled against the wind and cold.

He arrived at Hagrid's hut and knocked loudly on the door. Hagrid opened the door, breaking into a massive grin when he saw Harry standing there.

"Harry!" he said before pulling him into a (quite literally) crushing hug.

"Hello, Hagrid," Harry managed to gasp. But he had to smile when Hagrid set him down again.

"Come in, Harry. I've got th' kettle over th' fire already. We can have a cuppa tea." Hagrid pulled Harry inside.

"Well, how are yeh? I bin worried you'd flat-out forgotten me," Hagrid said. "Minerva—that is, Headmistress McGonagall tol' me you had some memory loss."

Harry laughed. "Not _that_ much loss, Hagrid. I could never forget you."

He sat down in a large chair and began stroking Fang's massive ears when the dog plopped his head in Harry's lap. For a while, he and Hagrid simply chatted about everything that had been going on, playing catch-up. Eventually, the conversation swung around to Harry's life since getting out of the Infirmary. Harry told Hagrid what McGonagall had said to him the night before.

When Harry had finished, Hagrid sat quietly for a minute, thinking. Finally, he turned to Harry, expression soft and honest.

"Well, Harry, I reckon Professor McGonagall is a smart woman, knows what she's talkin' abou'. I'm not goin' ter argue with that. But the way I see it, you deserve a break.

"Ever since that night on yer 11th birthday, you haven't done nothin' but work fer the general good. When was the last time you decided to do something selfish?"

Harry could think of dozens of things. He opened his mouth to speak.

"Hush. I know what you're thinkin'. You're thinkin' that you were just doing what was right. You're thinkin' that you've done plenty of selfish things in your life. Maybe so. But Harry—You-Know-Who is dead. V-Voldemort. He's gone. It's time for you ter think about yourself for a change."

Harry was surprised to see Hagrid's eyes starting to swim. "Hagrid?"

"Yer—yer parents," Hagrid said, choked up. "They'da been so proud to see you today. Not a selfish bone in yer body."

Harry was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of appreciation for the half-giant.

"Maybe it's time to get one," Hagrid finished before noisily gulping down his cup of tea.

When the sky outside began to darken, Harry said his goodbyes, leaving a little shaky from another powerful hug. Despite the snow that had been falling all day, the ground was still mostly uncovered. The drifts would come another day.

That night, as Harry lay in bed, Hagrid's words rang in his head. "Maybe it's time to get one." They were the last thing he heard before he fell asleep.


	9. Chapter 8

The next day dawned clear and bright. As the sun rose in the sky, the temperature rose with it to unseasonable levels. Though still cold enough to chafe, the windless skies allowed for a picturesque winter day, perfect for being outside.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione had Charms that morning. As Professor Flitwick explained, they would be practicing wandless magic, as per their recent homework assignment.

"Freezing Charms are an elementary bit of magic to do with a wand and an incantation," Flitwick said. "We have already practiced them nonverbally this year. Today, we will be devoted our energies to wandless Freezing Charms. I encourage you to do them nonverbally as well, though it may be easier to start out using the verbal incantation."

The class split into pairs. Ron and Harry worked together and Hermione joined with a Ravenclaw. They took turns practicing; one would levitate a book or a quill high and drop it for the other one to attempt to freeze with the wandless charm. It was extremely difficult. Harry had to balance using magic wandlessly, using the charm nonverbally, and focusing on a moving object all at once.

About halfway through the class, only one person had managed to freeze an object midair—of course, it was Hermione. However, the charm was weakly set and the book spun slowly in a circle as it hung above the ground, pages shifting as they brushed against the air.

After having Hermione explain her methods, Flitwick sent the class back to try again. Harry stared at the quill Ron was levitating in exasperation.

"Look, Ron, it's too hard to concentrate on the quill when it's flapping around when it's falling," Harry said. "Can't we use something solid?"

Ron dropped the quill and searched in his pockets. He pulled out a thick jawbreaker, probably from Honeydukes. "Will this work?"

"Yeah, it shouldn't be too hard since it's about the same size as a Snitch," Harry said.

"_Wingardium leviosa_!" Ron said, pointing his wand at the candy. It floated into the air to linger near the ceiling.

Harry studied it intently. He pictured its plummet halting suddenly, frozen in place. He formed the incantation in his mind, willed it to stick to the candy.

"Go," he whispered.

The jawbreaker dropped. As Harry attempted with all his might to force the charm out, an image popped into his mind. A stone fell below the surface of a body of water, freezing as soon as it was submerged.

Harry blinked and the picture vanished. It its stead, he saw the jawbreaker fixed in place above the table. It was completely motionless.

"All right, Harry!" Ron shouted.

He reached out to touch the piece of candy. It resisted his prods, unmoved. The image flashed back into his mind, slightly expanded: He could see dozens of stones suspended under the surface of the water, fixed against the wind and waves. A powerful sensation of _jamais vu_ rose in him. It was disconcerting.

"Congratulations, Mr Potter!" Flitwick exclaimed. "An excellently executed Freezing Charm."

"Excuse me, Professor," Harry said. "I'm not feeling well."

Turning, he avoided the eyes of Ron and Hermione as he fled the room. In the corridor, he leaned against the stone wall and willed for the image to return. He squeezed his eyes shut until they ached, but the memory kept its distance.

Suddenly, he felt trapped by the hard, cold castle surrounding him. The _jamais vu_ seemed to be taking up all the space for him to move, to breath. He needed to get outside. He summoned his heavy cloak inside the classroom and headed for the castle doors.

When the sun hit his face, he immediately felt better. He noted the windless conditions and decided it would be a nice day to get some exercise on the Quidditch pitch. He made his way down to the field.

Harry went into the changing rooms to put on his Quidditch gear. He couldn't remember the last time he had played—it must have been during those months he couldn't recall. He was so distracted by his memories and the elusive image of suspended stones that it wasn't until he was pulling his robes over his head that he noticed another pile of clothes in the room. Then his ears caught the sound of water running in pipes and splashing on tile. Someone else was already there.

"Hello?" Harry called towards the showers, where the humidity was making the warm air foggy.

He heard footsteps. A face appeared around the corner.

"Harry?"

Harry was hit with another wave of _jamais vu_. "Draco?"

The Slytherin took a step towards him. His hair was wet and pushed back from his face. Though in crisp focus, his skin appeared soft with a damp warmth. His skin that was entirely unimpeded in Harry's vision by clothing or towel. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh, needed some fresh air. I was gonna go out on my broom for a bit."

The other boy was giving him a piercing look. "Are you okay?

"It's just—there's something I'm trying to remember, but it's not quite there."

Malfoy looked wary, but Harry couldn't ignore the feeling that he should be remembering something else as well.

"You... you..." Harry stopped.

"You look familiar."

Even as he said those words, they sounded ridiculous to him. Of course Malfoy looked familiar. They had known each other for years. They had been enemies most of that time, but nevertheless, they knew each other. Yet the blond gave a small grin. It was almost—hopeful.

"I do?"

It was at this point that Harry became aware that he was alone in a room with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing nothing but the aforementioned grin. Despite the absurdity of the situation, it didn't feel wrong. In fact, the sensation of _jamais vu_ was fading, but not in a way that suggested it was because the familiarity was fading as well.

"Um..." Harry said. "You're, um, not wearing any clothes."

Malfoy glanced down as if in surprise. "Right you are."

Harry changed tactics. He said, "Um... Why are you smiling like that?"

The naked boy took a step forward, holding Harry's gaze. Harry felt like Malfoy was trying to be intimidating, but for some reason he wasn't.

"I can see it in your eyes. I look familiar. But you don't know why," he said. "Do you need someone to help you with that?"

His reply was a bird that had found the latch on its cage unexpectedly opened; it was out of his mouth before he could catch it, draw it back in. But that freed bird sang the truth.

"Yes."

Draco walked at him again until they were standing inches apart. Slowly, gently, he placed a hand on the back of Harry's head and pulled his face closer to his own. Harry knew what came next, but he had forgotten that he could stop it. Their foreheads met, eyes still locked together. Draco put his other hand on Harry's chest and leaned into him, rolling his unclad body against the covered one. Their lips met.

Harry could taste something elusive, slightly salty. His nose was filled with the citrusy smell of soap on Malfoy's skin; his body was absorbing the heat of another pressed against it.

When their lips parted, Harry opened the eyes he hadn't realized were closed. Draco's expression was slightly disappointed, steel-grey eyes troubled.

"You still don't remember... anything?" he asked in a half-whisper.

Harry shook his head. The expression hardened. Without another word, Draco brushed past Harry and slipped his clothes on. His footsteps echoed against the walls as he walked away and left Harry alone.

Harry stood awhile, trying to recall the feel of lips against lips. For a second, he had been sure it was linked to his earlier recollection. But nothing came to him.

He returned to his clothes. He wasn't in the mood for flying anymore. He pulled his robes back over his head and grabbed his glasses from the bench. His hand hesitated when they slipped onto his face, though. He didn't remember setting them down to put his robes on again. But—he must have. He had seen Draco perfectly well.

Harry shook off the thought. His glasses were such an unconscious part of him that he rarely remembered taking them off or putting them on.

Harry headed back for the castle, feeling that elusive taste lingering in his mouth.


	10. Chapter 9

Harry was plummeting at the ground. He could see it rushing towards him, eager to meet him again. He clawed at the air, tried a Freezing Charm, but it didn't work. The rushing wind tore the words right out of his mouth.

Something glinted in the sun, caught his eyes. He knew it was a Snitch. He pulled in tight to his broom, dove after it, straight at the ground. When he caught up to it, another pair of hands met his in grasping the golden sphere. Then he tumbled off his broom, heading for the grassy pitch...

...and landed on the trapdoor in the Forbidden Corridor on the third floor. He rolled and fell through. He was falling again. He could see the Devil's Snare writhing beneath him, reaching for him.

He prepared to hit the mass of vines and found himself falling backwards towards a bed. A pair of arms stretched out in front of him, as though they had just shoved him. His back hit the plush quilt on top of the soft mattress. He looked up to see who had pushed him and—

—woke up. This time, the dream was fresh in his mind and Harry hastened to record it in his journal. When he finished, he glanced out the window and saw that it was still in the pre-dawn hours. He slumped back under his covers and went back to sleep.

The second time Harry woke up that morning, it was from a dreamless sleep. He felt a gentle nudging and opened his eyes to find a ginger blur hovering over him.

"Good morning, Harry," Ron said.

Harry snagged his glasses from the nightstand. "Morning."

"How are you feeling today? Hermione said I should come up and check on you. She worries more about you now, you know, since the accident."

Ron sat down on the edge of the bed and Harry looked at him. His face was earnest and caring. Harry took a moment to take inventory of his emotions.

"I'm feeling okay, I think," he said.

"Great," Ron said. "Where did you go when you ran out of Flitwick's class, then? You looked pretty... shaken."

"I..."

And then the memories hit Harry like a Bludger. They all crashed into him at once, leaving him reeling. The almost-memory. The naked Draco Malfoy.

The kiss.

Harry collapsed into his pillow and twisted his face into a grimace, leaving his eyes squeezed shut. Through a clenched jaw, he groaned, "Oh god. Oh god."

"What?" came Ron's alarmed voice.

"No. Nonono."

Ron's hand came to rest tentatively on Harry's leg. "Harry?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

A sigh. "Come on, Harry. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to bother you that much yesterday.

Harry realized this was true. Why, though? How could he have possibly so calmly accepted kissing—oh god oh god—Draco Malfoy?

"Um."

"Ye-es?"

Harry shoved the words out of his mouth, snapping it shut afterwards as though he could pretend they never happened. "IkissedMalfoy."

"Huh."

Slowly, Harry peeked out from one tightly closed eyelid. Ron was looking at him steadily, but he showed no signs of alarm or worry.

"Huh? What does that mean?"

Ron shook his head. "I just didn't think it would—that is... Well. Did you kiss him or did he kiss you?"

Harry was confused by Ron's behavior and upset by his memories of yesterday. This led him to be more than a little irritated.

"He kissed me," he snapped. "Why?"

Ron ignored the question and posed one of his own. "Where were you?"

"The Quidditch pitch."

"What, and he just sort of flew up to you and started snogging you?"

"No, don't be stupid," Harry said. "We were in the showers."

"Ah," Ron said, and Harry could just hear the smirk in his voice.

"Why are you being so bloody irritating?" Harry asked.

"Why were you kissing Malfoy?"

Harry let out a long sigh and gritted his teeth. "Look, I don't remember, okay? And in case you're having memory problems of your own, that's been happening to me a lot lately. I would _appreciate_ it if I had supportive friends."

"Ah... I'm sorry, mate. I just—I want you to remember, but I don't know how to help you. Pomfrey and McGonagall say we can't just tell you, 'cause of the nature of the things you forgot."

Harry opened his eyes and stared at the canopy of his bed for a minute. He thought about the kiss and found his fingers had made their way to his lips, feeling them, caressing them. The kiss that hadn't seemed totally wrong to him. He could remember that at least, though he couldn't recall the sensation. He sat up and looked at Ron.

"Help me, then. Give me a hint. Something."

A hint of the smirk returned, tinged with something else. Sadness.

"It's not the first time you've kissed."

The words rang hollow in Harry's ears, fake and cacophonous. His temper, momentarily subdued, flared up again.

"Fuck off, Ron. I thought you wanted to help me."

"Harr—"

"No, shut up. Get out."

As the words left his tongue, he felt razor-sharp pain flash behind his eyes. The room went blurry and he clapped his hands to his temples.

"Harry?"

"Get out!" Harry said, ripping off his glasses. The pain throbbed and pressed against his eyeballs. He screwed his eyes shut and waited for the ache to pass. Instead, he heard footsteps approaching him. His eyes flew open and he saw Ron reaching out to him.

In an instant, Harry snatched his wand from the nightstand and aimed it at Ron.

_Levicorpus!_

Ron's face was a mask of shock as his feet were knocked out from under him. He came to a rest with his ankles near the ceiling, his clothes falling down to partially obscure his features.

"_Mobilicorpus_!" Harry said, flicking his wand toward the door. Ron went soaring out of the room. Harry dropped the hex and set the strongest locking charm he knew on the door. Still, his head was a ball of pain. It threatened to overwhelm him.

Jumping out of bed and ignoring the pounding on the door, he threw on a heavy cloak and shoes. He took his broomstick in hand, pocketed his glasses, and looked for a way out. Through his wavy vision he saw nothing. Without hesitation, he spun toward the window and threw a Reductor curse at it. He jumped.


	11. Chapter 10

The frigid winter air whipped harshly against Harry's face as he urged his broom to faster and faster speeds. His eyes teared up in the dry, vicious air, blurring his vision. His ears were filled with roaring wind, but he heard nothing through his whirling mind. Every thought vied for attention, making a clamor, keeping Harry's attention occupied; his body was operating on automatic.

"It's not the first time you've kissed."

_What the fuck does that mean?_ Harry thought furiously. He shook his head in a futile attempt to banish the thought. Focusing his gaze, he realized he had flow himself to the lakeshore. The rocky beach looked familiar.

Harry realized this was where he and Sirius had nearly undergone the Dementor's kiss in his third year. Just across the inlet was where he had cast the Patronus stag.

His feet gently alit on the smooth, palm-sized stones of the shore. Harry stared out over the water. He could vividly remember the sight of dozens of black-cloaked figures swooping down on him and an injured Sirius. The rush of thinking he had somehow seen his father.

Suddenly, Harry found himself wondering what had happened to 12 Grimmauld Place. He turned on his heel without another thought. The unpleasant squeezing sensation of Apparation gripped him, but when he opened his eyes, he hadn't moved.

Of course. The magical barriers around Hogwarts. Harry gritted his teeth in frustration. Hopping back on his broom, he took off at high speed again, aiming away from the castle. When he passed over the crest of the hill adjacent to the loch, he figured he had gone far enough to be out of Hogwarts's influence. There was only one way to find out. Squeezing his eyes shut, he focused on 12 Grimmauld Place.

With a crack, and a delayed bang, Harry appeared outside the front door, slamming into it a second later with all the momentum of a speeding broomstick. He managed to throw his hands in front of his face, forcing the brunt of the impact onto his chest.

"Christ," Harry whispered as he slid down and sat against the door. He checked all his ribs to make sure they were unbroken, then moved on to his eyebrows to be sure nothing had been splinched. Luckily, he was okay but for what felt like a few bruises.

Then, the door opened with a creak, sending Harry toppling over backwards.

"Master Harry?"

"Kreacher?"

Harry looked up into the House Elf's wrinkled face. He appeared concerned, but that could have been because he was upside down from Harry's point of view.

"Is Master all right? Kreacher heard a terrible thump on the door."

"Peachy," Harry said.

"Good, good," Kreacher said, anxiously rubbing his hands together. This being settled, something else seemed to call his attention, and he sidled away muttering under his breath.

Slowly, Harry rolled over and pushed himself to his feet. He winced, feeling a tug in his ribs. He was going to be sore tomorrow.

The pain had been a good distraction from his inner turmoil, but staring up the stairway, Harry began to remember the times he had spent there. A wave of goosebumps prickled across his neck; he could feel memories like ghosts brush across his skin. He remembered the people who had been there with him. Fred. Remus and Tonks. Mad-Eye. Sirius. Especially Sirius. Harry felt an ache building in his throat. Maybe there was some firewhiskey in the kitchen to take the edge off. Firewhiskey would be nice.

Searching through the cupboards, however, it was abundantly clear there was nothing there to help him. He slumped against the counter. The house, so full of memories, was weighing him down. It had been a bad idea to go there.

A piece of paper caught his eye. It was lying on the table, face-down—it appeared to be a photograph. On the back was a note in a hand Harry didn't recognize. _August 1, 1998_. The day after his birthday.

He flipped the picture over. In it, he saw himself standing in the dining room at Grimmauld Place. He was smiling and beckoning at someone out of the frame. There was a cake on the table—it was clearly his birthday party. The other person entered the photo.

It was Malfoy. Crossing the frame, he stopped next to Harry, wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and leaned in for a peck on the cheek. The pair smiled and waved out at Harry.

The photograph fluttered to the dust-specked floor. Harry's fingers curled into tight fists, nails cutting into his palms. Harry spun and strode with unfocused eyes into the dining room. A flash of red on the floor stuck out against the faded carpet. He crouched and picked the object up. A birthday candle.

—_soft fingers brushed against his lips as they offered his mouth the frosting-covered end of a short, crimson birthday candle. He smiled and tasted the sugary vanilla, gazing into a pair of grey eyes—_

Harry blinked with a sudden, drastic inhalation. He focused on the flashback, but it was slipping from him as quickly as a dream in the morning. Frustrated and feeling like he was fighting his toughest duel yet trying to get his memory back, he tossed the candle on the table. He aimed his wand at the candle and the wick burst into a tall, guttering flame, burning all the way down until all that was left was a puddle of cooling wax on the tabletop.

Slowly, Harry walked back to the kitchen. For a long time, he stood staring at the small rectangle of paper on the ground.


	12. Chapter 11

When Harry finally stepped back out into the cold, winter air, it was late evening. The sun was nearing the horizon; it would be dark within the hour. He pictured the smooth flagstones of Hogsmeade and Apparated, broomstick in hand, this time without a surprise meeting with a door. He climbed onto the broom and flew slowly back to the castle. He felt beyond exhausted by the day's events. But there was something he needed to do before he slept.

He landed on below the steps up to the main doors into the castle. When he opened the door across from the Great Hall, however, he found a surprise. Ron was crossing the foyer, headed for the same destination as Harry. He looked up at the opening door and saw Harry.

_Shit_.

"Harry!" Ron ran over to him and embraced him. "You all right, mate?"

"Oh. Erm, yeah," Harry said. This was unexpected. "How about you?"

Ron stepped back and gave a little grin, reaching up to rub his head. "Well, you gave me a little bump on the head, but Hermione says I deserve one of those once in a while… I'm okay, though."

"Good," Harry said. "Look, Ron, I'll talk to you later."

"What's up?" Ron asked.

"Never mind. Just someone I need to talk to."

Ron lowered his voice. "Harry, if it's about Malfoy… Maybe it's best if you talk to him some other time. When you're not so tired and riled up."

"Who says I'm tired?" Harry said.

"It's pretty obvious. You have circles under your eyes. You're slouching like you're about to tip over. You're not even carrying your broom—you're dragging it."

"Ron, I need to talk to him, okay?"

"Okay, but in the middle of a meal?"

"Why the hell not?" Harry demanded.

"Harry, you just need to be careful with him."

_"Ron, you don't understand. He's not going to hurt me."  
>"You don't know that."<br>"Yes, I do. I trust him. So should you."  
>"You just need to be careful with him, okay, Harry?"<em>

Harry blinked. "You've said that before."

"What?"

"You've—you've said that—before—"

Slowly, the world slid back into focus. Harry squinted as his pupils contracted painfully in the bright, yellow light, the exact colour of the darker hairs on Draco's neck. He had the distinct sensation that he had just been dreaming about him.

"Good morning, Mr Potter."

Harry started and the dream fled. That was McGonagall's voice, and it was coming from right beside him.

"Oh, no, there's no need for you to get up," she said. "Best to relax this morning."

"Um, good morning to you, too, Headmistress."

"How are you feeling? A little more alert than last evening, I hope."

"Yeah. What happened?"

"Mr Weasley said you went white as a sheet while you were talking to him and simply fell over. Lucky for you he was there to catch you. You have been asleep since then."

"So, erm… Why are you here, ma'am?"

"I'm going to be straightforward and honest here, Potter. You deserve no less. You remember our previous conversation? Good. I am here because I still think it is the best interests of Hogwarts and the wizarding community if we—if you—focus on the future. Let the past be past."

Harry lay in silence for a minute, thinking about his response. "With all due respect, Professor McGonagall, I have to say that no, I will not forget about my past. I've always remembered the past, even when it was painful."

He paused. "Especially when it was painful. I needed to remember. I had to remember my parents. Cedric. Sirius. Everyone who fought alongside me. Those memories—some of them are what kept me going. I couldn't let my parents' lives and sacrifices go to waste, you know? By remembering I kept them alive in my memory.

"I know the memories I've lost may not be a matter of life and death. I could be fighting for the memory of a few boring summer months. But until I know for sure, I will never be able to keep it in the back of my mind. Even if I tried to focus on the future, it wouldn't work. I can't even focus on the present sometimes, when I get these memories that bubble up. I have to get my memory back."

Harry heard a heavy sigh and felt the weight on the bed shift. He looked over and saw McGonagall getting up from the bed and standing in front of the (now-repaired) window. There was a long silence. Harry began to feel as if he had said something wrong. He was only telling her the truth; he thought she could appreciate that, at least.

Finally, she turned around to face Harry. Her eyes were shining and she had a sad but kind smile on her face. "I was afraid you were going to say that. I appreciate your being candid with me. I'd be fooling myself if I said I came in here with the expectation that I would be able to change your mind.

"I wish you the best in your recovery, Potter. You know where my office is should you ever need to speak to me. Now, I suggest that you get some more rest before you venture out of the room. Mr Weasley and Ms Granger are positively rabid with worry."

Harry smiled as he closed his eyes.

"…isn't this a little convoluted? I mean, he just wants some personal space."

"And we'll give it to him. While we watch from a distance, outside his personal space."

"It never ceases to amaze me how you can find absolutely anything in the library, Hermione. Who'd have thought there was a tracking spell in there?"

"Oh, sure. It was used extensively in the werewolf outbreak of 1356. On the day before the full moon, they would use it on anyone they suspected to see if they stayed in their bed during the night. It's still occasionally used today—"

"Hermione, look."

Harry opened his eyes. "What are you two up to?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing at all, Harry. Now, if you'll just lie still for a moment…"

He sat up and groped for his glasses on the nightstand. "Glasses?"

A gingery blur at the foot of his bed extended an appendage. "Here. You can have them back as soon as Hermione's done."

Harry leapt forward and snagged the glasses. He slid them on to find Ron and Hermione regarding him, both smiling broadly. He groaned and fell back onto the bed. His ribs were aching.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione said playfully. "If you keep running off like this, how do we know you're not going to go get yourself killed?"

"Voldemort's dead, Hermione," Harry muttered.

"Yeah, but he had these followers called Death Eaters—you might've heard of them. They're still around," Ron said. "C'mon. We just want to know what's up. We want to help you."

Harry sighed. "I went to 12 Grimmauld Place yesterday."

"What did you find?" Hermione asked.

"Look in the right pocket of my cloak."

Ron picked up his cloak lying on the floor and reached into the pocket. He pulled out a photograph. "Oh," he said when he looked at it, passing it over to Hermione, whose face hardened slightly.

"What did McGonagall say to you?" she asked.

"You know what she said," Harry replied.

"Yes. I suppose. What did you tell her?"

"I need my memories back, Hermione. And I don't know why, but Malfoy seems to be pretty important in all this. I also don't know why you're so resistant to me even speaking to him, but it needs to happen. I can't go on like this—sleeping all day, collapsing when I get a flashback."

Ron rapped one of the posts of Harry's bed gently and looked at Hermione. "We understand, Harry."

Hermione walked to the head of Harry's bed and put the photo on his nightstand. "We really do want you to get better."

She paused in the doorway with Ron. "Even if we disagree about Malfoy, Ron and I are always here for you to talk to."

Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his face tiredly. He hated being at odds with Hermione. She was his best friend just as much as Ron.

Maybe things would be better in the morning.

He slept.


	13. Chapter 12

Harry was running. No—he was chasing. He was chasing a flitting shape through a dense underbrush. It was too fast for him, too transient to see clearly. When it darted through the dappled sunlight it flashed blindingly white.

It darted through a bush; Harry followed. He found it waiting for him on the other side, but before he could see it properly, it started chasing him. He ran, gleefully, as fast as he could. This chase wasn't a sinister one. He didn't dare look behind him lest it slow him down.

Then Harry knew it was his turn to chase. He skidded to a stop behind a tree and jumped out when the shape appeared—it never hesitated, running straight away from Harry. He began to run again. It was going faster this time, almost disappearing from his view altogether. Desperately, he ran faster yet, dangerously fast in the thickly packed woods. He was gaining on it. He was almost on top of it—he reached out; they broke free of the underbrush and the ground disappeared. Harry was soaring out into the void, no broomstick to catch him.

Twisting as he fell, he finally managed to catch a glimpse of the shape that eluded him before gravity pulled him back earthward.

It was the unpleasant sensation of falling that woke him up. Harry opened his eyes and felt his limbs lashing out to break his imagined fall. The image of the creature was still in his mind's eye. He hurried to note the dream in his journal before it faded.

When he stared at the word on the page, though, he knew it was wrong. Not a weasel. He crossed it out. The right word was on the tip of his tongue. His face bunched in concentration. He could hear Ron's voice in his head, spitting out a word in utter derision; there was only one person who drew that reaction from him. _Ferret._

Harry stared at the new word on the page. He wasn't sure he could even list a single difference between the two animals. Why was the first one wrong, then? Not a weasel—

"Harry?" Ron's voice was coming from the hallway.

"You can come in," Harry said.

"Hey. You're awake. How are you?"

Harry shut his journal. "A lot less tired. Ready to go back to the real world, maybe."

Ron grinned. "Good. I should hope so, seeing as you've just spent your entire weekend sleeping."

"Shit," Harry muttered. "Have we got any classes this morning?"

"Not until afternoon."

"Good. Wake me up in a couple hours."

"That's it," Ron said. He took two fistfuls of Harry's blankets and ripped them off the bed.

"Hey!" Harry protested. "I was using those."

"Get up off your lazy arse and come to breakfast. People are beginning to suspect you've gone back into your coma."

"Fine." Harry climbed out of bed and threw some clothes on.

"D'you reckon I need to comb my hair?"

Harry and Ron stared at each other for a few seconds before spontaneously breaking into laughter.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Ron said.

"Me too."

"You two go ahead. I need to talk to someone," Harry said to Ron and Hermione as they were leaving the Great Hall. He ignored their exchanged glance and turned towards the Slytherin table. There, in his usual spot, was Draco Malfoy, flanked by Goyle and Zabini. After a moment, Harry remembered Crabbe had been consumed by his own Fiendfyre.

Harry walked over to the table, feeling as if the entire hall was watching him. Malfoy looked up as he approached.

"Erm… Can we talk?"

"Yes," Malfoy replied evenly.

"Alone?"

Malfoy stared at him for a moment before rising from his seat. Without another glance at Harry, he headed to the foyer outside the Great Hall. He passed straight through and opened a door to a small room, which Harry vaguely recognized as the same room he and his fellow First Years had waited in prior to Sorting.

Malfoy regarded him indifferently and Harry wished he had planned out something to say. Or even what he wanted to gain there. As the pause stretched longer, Malfoy spoke.

"Look, Potter, no doubt I am more patient than you remember me, but I have my limits. What do you want to talk about?"

"Well… us," Harry answered.

"What do you mean?"

Harry grabbed the photograph from his pocket and handed it to the other boy. "I'm not sure what I mean. How can I be? No one will tell me what the fuck is going on. Ron hints at things, you, well, kiss me, I keep having dreams and half-memories, but it just leaves me more confused."

He took a deep breath and stared at his feet. "What was going on between us?"

"I think you know the answer to that question. You're afraid of it."

"How can I be afraid of something I don't remember?"

"That's the thing, Harry—you don't even want to remember. But you don't remember why. You are terrified of your memory even as you reach to take it back."

"Look, Malfoy. Draco. I don't know how hard this ordeal has been for you. It's been a royal pain in the ass for me. But I can't do anything about it, for you or for me, if you don't help me."

Malfoy was silent again. He looked up from the picture. Harry met his gaze. His features were still quiet, controlled, but there was a hint of sadness there as well. When he left the room, the only sound was his heels tapping the stone floor.

That evening, Harry was sitting in his room, staring out over the snowy Hogwarts grounds. He was contemplating his discussion with Malfoy. His behavior seemed odd. In the changing rooms of the Quidditch pitch, he had seemed hopeful that Harry would remember something. Then Harry approached him and he was reluctant even to speak.

Harry sighed. It was going to be a long journey back to his memory if no one was going to help him. He looked at the photograph again. Harry and Malfoy were still there, arms round shoulders and smiling at each other.

Harry noticed something had changed on the back of the photo. He flipped it over and found a phrase had been written there since the last time he had looked at the back. The handwriting seemed familiar. It said, "Prince's tale."

What did that mean? Something in the back of his mind reminded him of the memories Snape had given him. Harry fuzzily remembered sharing the truth about Snape—and calling it the Prince's Tale because of Snape's mother's maiden name. But why that phrase on the back of the picture?

The answer came in the form of a picture in his mind's eye: a door in the dungeons. The door to Slytherin quarters. The password.

Within ten minutes, Harry found himself repeating the phrase to the door he had pictured. It swung open and Harry walked in to find the place apparently deserted. Following his instincts, he went to where he thought Malfoy's room was. The door was ajar; he pushed it open.

"Hello."

"Hi."

"Please, come in."

Harry couldn't have broken the charged eye contact if he'd tried. Malfoy's eyes seemed especially grey amidst the green and silver house colours.

"I was hoping you would find my message."


	14. Chapter 13

"I was hoping you would find my message."

"Or rather," Malfoy continued, "That you would know what to do with it."

He paused. "And that you'd have the courage to take action. But you're a Gryffindor through and through, aren't you?"

"Erm…" Harry said. "I'm confused. Earlier you seemed angry. Frustrated. Has something changed?"

The Slytherin took a step toward Harry. "Not yet."

Seeing Harry's confused expression, he gave his signature smirk. _No_, Harry noted, _not quite signature. His eyes aren't so cold and distant from the smirk as they usually are._

"Don't misunderstand, Harry. I am angry and frustrated. Those seem like logical emotions given what I've been through these past few weeks. Especially given our encounter the other day."

Harry thought back to the "encounter." _You still don't remember anything?_

"That whole situation kind of caught me off guard. I really am trying to remember, Malfoy."

"I can see that now. I had to be sure. I had to know you were truly trying."

"Why wouldn't I be? You said I was afraid, that I didn't want to remember. But I do."

Draco and Harry were face to face now. Green eyes met grey, sought answers. Draco leaned forward; Harry's eyes were drawn to his lips. But Malfoy simply reached behind Harry and closed the door. Harry released a breath he was surprised to be holding. He didn't think about how much he wanted to touch those lips with his own.

"What made you change your mind? You weren't this sure in the changing room."

"The picture," Harry admitted. "After I went to 12 Grimmauld Place and found that picture… I knew I had to do whatever I could to get my life back."

"What was so special about that picture?"

Harry could taste vanilla frosting on the tip of his tongue.

"I don't know if I can even explain it. That photograph—frightened me. I've faced certain death dozens of times. Faced the death of my friends. I even died once." Harry sighed before continuing. "And that little piece of paper scared me. Eventually, I realized it was because there was something true about it. Something right. It wasn't just that I can remember being that happy only a handful of times in my entire life, and there I was, sharing the moment with—you."

Draco's body language was visibly shifting as Harry spoke, becoming warmer and more intimate than Harry could remember seeing. He knew the more honest and open he was, the more willing Malfoy was going to be to help him.

"I realized that it scared me because it looked so right; because I wanted to have that experience for myself. You were my lifelong enemy and I wanted to share one of the happiest moments of my life with you."

"I'm not," Malfoy whispered.

"What?"

"I'm not your enemy."

"I know."

"Are you still scared?"

"Terrified."

"Good."

Harry wished desperately that he could read the other boy's mind. He could practically see it roiling behind his eyes, but he gave away nothing with his expression.

"Harry."

"What?"

"Why are you here?"

"Um." Harry paused. Why was he there? It had seemed the obvious course of action. "Because you wanted me here?"

Malfoy gave a short laugh. "You really are still afraid. I meant, what did you expect to gain?"

An even harder question. "I think… I think I wanted you to help me with my memory. It felt like you'd be able to."

"And just how do you propose we go about this business of retrieving your memory?"

In his mind's eye, Harry could see a naked Draco Malfoy pressing against him to give him a kiss in the changing room. His gaze flicked down to those pink lips, parted ever-so-slightly as if in invitation.

Another smirk. "You know, this isn't nearly as scary as you think it is. We've done so much more than what you remember from the other day."

"Oh." Harry's mind was blissfully blank.

"Just say it."

Harry took a deep breath. Without warning, the image of Cho Chang popped up in his head. He heard his own voice ringing from the past. "Wannagoballwithme?" _For the love of Merlin, do not sound like a fourteen year old. Please._

"I want… I want to kiss you."

A smile.

"Um." _Where do I put my hands? Do I lean in all the way or meet him halfway? What if I have bad breath? Oh god._

As the pause grew longer, Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. He wrapped his arms behind Harry's neck and drew the two together. Harry's hands instinctively found Draco's waist. The citrusy smell was there again. Their lips met.

It was like they were kissing a thousand times at once. Harry could remember the first time they'd kissed. And the second, the third, every time since. He felt the nervousness, the joy, the comfort; it was overwhelming and beautiful. The memories washed over him and he gasped, breaking contact.

"I'm not _that_ good of a kisser," Draco said, but there was a note of worry in his voice.

"No, it's just—I remember."

"How much?"

"Just the kisses."

"'Just.'"

Harry smiled. "That was exhilarating."

"I'm still right here."

Former nerves forgotten, Harry leaned in, pulled Draco's body into his. This kiss was more forceful, more intense. Their heat melded together, warmed them both. This time, the memories and emotions were echoes of the former intensity. Harry needed more.

When Harry slid his hands under his shirt, Draco "mmm"d into his mouth. His skin was smooth under Harry's broom-calloused hands, though goose bumps quickly sprang up at his trailing fingertips. In response, Malfoy's fingers tugged at the hair at the nape of Harry's neck. Then, he pulled harder, breaking the kiss and forcing the dark-haired head back, linking kisses down the jaw and bared neck. Harry could feel himself beginning to harden and the heat of their bodies pressed together was growing uncomfortable.

There was an easy solution for that particular problem. Harry grabbed the hem of the other boy's shirt and pulled it up, forcing him to raise his arms to let the shirt slip off. Without hesitation, Draco removed Harry's shirt the same way after pushing his cloak off his shoulders, sweeping his glasses off in the process.

The convergence of their bare torsos was accompanied by memories of other such collisions blossoming in Harry's head. He remembered the delicious friction of skin on skin, fumbling hands, ragged breath; excitement, anxiety, and arousal burned in his stomach.

"God, I want you," Harry murmured.

"It's been too long since I've heard that."

Harry pushed Draco backward towards the bed, trailing his mouth along a lightly stubbled jawline. When Malfoy's heels hit the footboard, Harry lowered him to the bed; before he could lower himself, however, he felt a pair of hands tugging at the buttons of his trousers.

"A little help?" Draco said.

"Shoes first," Harry said, leaning down to pull off first his own shoes and socks, then Draco's.

The Slytherin sat up and reached for Harry's waistband. "Why must you wear these infernal things with these infernal buttons?"

"Would you prefer I not wear trousers at all?" Harry asked, reaching down to help.

"Yes." Malfoy finally succeeded in undoing the buttons. "Off with them."

"You first."

Harry watched as the blond pulled at his own buttons in annoyance. When he kicked free of the confining cloth, his arousal showed clearly through his underwear. Harry was sure he had never seen a more erotic sight, remembered or not: Draco propped on his elbows, slim form sprawled on the bed, hair askew, hardness apparent, and staring at Harry with an expression of desire and petulance.

"I said lose the pants, Potter."

"Never quite lost the bossiness, did you, Malfoy?"

"If you don't put your mouth to better use quite soon—"

Harry climbed onto the bed and straddled the prone boy. Their mouths met once more, bodies pressed together. Harry's hand caressed Draco through the silken shorts. The shape felt familiar to his touch.

"Well, what have we here?" he said.

"Weird," Draco said.

"What?" _Did I do something wrong?_

"You said that exact same thing the first time."

And Harry remembered. But there was something different in his memory.

"Where were we?"

"The broom cupboard across from the Charms classroom." Even if Harry hadn't been able to see it on his face, he could have heard the smirk in Draco's voice.

"How did that happen?"

"Let me help you remember," Draco said as he guided Harry's hand back to his hard on.

"I'm being serious," Harry protested.

"So was I."

Harry sat back, suddenly afflicted with more anxiety than excitement, doubts filtering into his consciousness. "While you're trying to get your rocks off, _Malfoy_, I'm trying to piece my life back together."

"Is that what you call this?"

"Jesus Christ. Is that all you want from me? A good time?"

Draco's smirk faded to be replaced by a look of disgust. "Get off of me," he said as he rolled Harry to the side.

"You're such a fucking brat, Harry. You can't even be honest with yourself. Harry Potter with anything short of the purest motives? Impossible. It must be Draco fucking Malfoy corrupting him, just getting into his pants. We both know you want sex for its own sake as much as you want that sex to give you parts of your life back."

Harry flinched, speechless in the barrage.

"Fucking hell. Why can't you see that I want you to remember as much as you do? I—I miss you."

While he was speaking, Draco stood up next to the bed; Harry followed suit. "Yeah? Why didn't you try to help me before, then? I wouldn't exactly call a naked kiss in the changing rooms reaching out."

It was Draco's turn to flinch, but he was never at a loss for words. "Get out."

When Harry began throwing his clothes back on, he continued, "Don't come back until you've deflated your ego."

Harry left the room without another word. Draco stared at the rumpled sheets. It was too hard to watch him leave.


	15. Chapter 14

"Harry? Harry, wake up. You're going to be late to class."

"Fuck off."

"Harry? Would you like to come down to the Common Room and—"

"No."

"Harry, please, you haven't eaten all day."

"Go away."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"What do you think?"

Hermione sighed and retreated from Harry's bed, closed off to the outside world by heavy red curtains. Before she got to the door, however, Harry spoke up.

"Is this why you didn't want me talking to him?"

She paused. "What do you mean?"

"You knew he'd just upset me. You knew he… doesn't care about me."

"Oh, Harry." She walked back over to his bed, slowly opened a curtain, and sat down next to Harry, who had his face buried in a pillow. She laid a comforting hand on his back.

Hermione sighed again before continuing. "I felt I could be reasonably certain that he would upset you. That's part of it. You two were so tempestuous the first time around I knew the second time couldn't be any better. I thought it would be better if you moved on. Concentrated on other things, like rebuilding in the aftermath of Voldemort, or figuring out what you wanted to do with your life. Maybe I misjudged that part.

"But as for Draco not caring about you—no. You are probably the only person in Hogwarts who doesn't realize how much he does—or did—care about you." She paused. "He may be, well, enthusiastic about sex, but that is far from the only thing he wants from you."

"Hermione—," Harry complained. He flipped his head over to stare at her balefully through one eye. He discovered she was smiling at him.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Harry. It was practically the same thing the first time. Where did you hook up last night? That empty room across from the Great Hall? Or someplace new?"

"Hermione!"

"Really, Harry, we are adults now. Can't we talk about sex in a mature manner?"

His glare deepened. "We didn't have sex."

"Oh. Then what happened?"

"We almost—almost—I don't even know. I left before anything happened."

She raised an eyebrow at him. He blushed.

"Well, before anything got finished."

"Why?"

"I accused him of only wanting sex. He accused me of being self-centered, said he wanted my memory back as much as I did. I asked him why he didn't try to help me before. He told me to get out, so I did."

"Harry? You do know you weren't the only one to get a speech from Professor McGonagall, right?"

"What?"

"She told him to keep his distance. She didn't even want him seeing you until you'd gotten most of your memory back. Although I think, seeing as you began seeking him out, she'd have no room to protest now."

"But…" Harry was confused. Despite the fact that he had slept most of the day, fatigue began to settle into his bones. "Why didn't he tell me that?"

"I don't know, Harry."

"I feel like an ass."

"You'll get over it."

"Hermione."

She smiled again and rubbed his back gently. After a while, she asked, "So, do you want something to eat now?"

When he didn't respond, she quietly got up and closed his curtains. He was going to be hungry when he woke up in the morning.

"Hello, Harry."

Harry looked up from his homework on the table. He was—surprising even himself in the process—studying in the library. And it wasn't even time for finals. Luna was standing on the other side of the table, looking eclectic and slightly dazed at the same time, as usual.

"Hello, Luna. Um, I haven't seen Neville lately, if you're looking for him."

"Oh, I wasn't."

"Okay."

Luna continued staring at him, head slightly tilted to one side.

"Then, um, was there something else?" he asked.

"Actually, I wanted to talk to you, Harry."

"We're talking now, aren't we?"

"I suppose we are."

Harry sighed. "Did you want to talk about something in particular?"

"Did you know that Wrackspurts mate for life?"

"Really?"

"Yes. The most dedicated pairs are together for over twelve days."

"Twelve days? Wow." Harry couldn't help the sarcastic edge creeping into his voice. He hoped Luna wouldn't notice.

"No need to be rude, Harry. They only live for two weeks."

Harry ran a hand tiredly through his hair. "I'm sorry, Luna. I've just been a bit stressed lately."

"I understand. I can imagine that if Neville were ever angry with me, I'd be upset as well."

A faint blush rose in Harry's cheeks. "How did you know about that?"

Luna ignored this question, or perhaps didn't quite hear it. It was hard to tell with her. "I hope what I said about Wrackspurts didn't seem—suggestive. I was only trying to ease into the subject."

"I appreciate your concern, Luna, I really do, but I don't want to talk about it right now."

Luna looked down at Harry's parchment. "Oh, you've spelled 'poltergeist' wrong."

Harry followed her gaze to his messy handwriting on the page. "You can read upside-down?"

"Hm. No. I just imagined what it must look like from your perspective."

Luna's gaze was shockingly clear for a moment before she smiled and said, "See you later, Harry."

Harry stared in silent horror as Snape calmly leveled his wand at Dumbledore. He could barely hear the incantation past his own internal screaming, but he could never squeeze his eyes hard enough to block out the flash of green light.

Suddenly, though, he was the one falling through the air, soaring off the top of the Astronomy Tower. His muscles were still frozen, immobilized by Dumbledore's final hex. He couldn't even call out.

The last image he saw before he hit the ground was that of Draco Malfoy's blond head leaning out over the parapet, staring down at him.

The dream changed and was gone from his memory by morning.


	16. Chapter 15

"Hey, Hermione," Harry started. "You know that thing I didn't want to talk about the other day?"

She looked up from the book she was reading in an armchair by the Gryffindor Common Room fireplace.

"Yes?"

"Well, I still don't want to talk about it." Harry smiled and continued, "But yesterday, when I was in the library, Luna said something odd to me."

Hermione stared at Harry.

"Okay. Odder than usual in that it seemed to make sense."

"Ah."

"She was talking about how she read my handwriting upside-down, but I think she was actually referring to the other—thing. She said, 'I just imagined what it must look like from your perspective.'"

"That seems like sound advice to me, Harry."

"I know. The problem is, I can't seem to figure out what exactly that perspective might be. I don't remember enough."

Hermione was silent for a moment. "And you want me to tell you what I imagine his perspective to be?"

"It would really help, Hermione."

"You know, Harry, he and I never really became close."

"Please. Just a general idea?"

Hermione tapped her book thoughtfully. "Well, I can say with some certainty that if Ronald ever accused me of being with him for the sex, I would be, among other things, extremely angry. I think it would seem like a denial of trust.

"And Draco could very well have been frustrated by your reaction because it reminded him of the first time this all happened and how much you've both lost since then."

_You said that exact same thing the first time._

"I had a similar reaction—before?"

"Nearly identical."

Harry groaned and closed his eyes. "Great."

"If it helps, you seem to be handling it better this time," Hermione offered.

"I still feel like an ass."

Hermione smiled and returned to her book.

Tiny snowflakes skated across the cold marble. Snow had drifted around it, blending seamlessly the frozen ground and the slabs of stone; the tomb looked nearly organic, but for the sharp corners.

The crunching sound of snow under Harry's shoes blew away in the wind as he came to a halt in front of the tomb. The frozen Lake lay dark and austere behind it. The world was in shades of grey as the sun filtered through overcast skies and reflected off the snowy ground.

Harry wasn't sure why he was there. He needed to get away from people to think, but usually he would go to the Quidditch pitch. Maybe the details of his last visit were too fresh in his mind. Maybe he was hoping he'd find answers in a man who always seemed to leave him with more questions.

But Harry knew he wasn't really looking for answers from Dumbledore. After all, the man's portrait was hanging in the castle and Harry was at his tomb. It wasn't really Albus Dumbldore in that wooden frame any more than it was him beneath the white marble, but the tomb could never hold a conversation with him.

Harry stared at the snow-flecked surface, flawlessly smooth despite being split open by Voldemort. The Elder Wand was in there again. He remembered returning it to the tomb, sealing the stone up again. He wondered if that wand could restore his memories, heal him. He wondered what "healing" meant.

His thoughts turned to Grindelwald, Dumbledore's relationship with him. He had heard the rumours that circulated, especially following the publication of Skeeter's toxic biography. If Dumbledore had been gay, he had certainly never shown it. Of course, he'd never shown much inclination in any direction. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had kept quiet about his association with the other wizard because he was ashamed of his sexuality or because he was ashamed to have been taken in by the charming veneer on a power-hungry mind.

"I? I see myself holding a pair of thick, woolen socks."

Dumbledore had been a person of secrets, yes. Someone who had done things he came to regret. But not, Harry thought, someone who was ashamed of something intrinsic to his being.

Harry sighed.

Time to go do something he would probably come to regret.

Harry studied the dark grain of the wood. Slowly, he raised a hand and knocked. He held his breath.

The answer was muffled. "I'm busy. Come back later."

"I'd like to talk to you now."

There came more muffled sounds, of hasty motion, rustling cloth. The door cracked open to reveal a thin slice of a pale face and a single grey eye.

"What do you want?"

Harry stared at Draco, willing himself not to curse or shout. He had rather hoped the other boy had grown out of his self-important phase. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

"Like I said, I want to talk to you."

The eye blinked once, then disappeared, leaving the door ajar. Harry took that as an invitation. He nudged the door open and stepped inside. Draco, his back to Harry, was readjusting his robe. The rest of the room was messier than Harry remembered it. There were clothes piled on the floor and bottles on the nightstand. The bed sheets were rumpled.

When Harry looked back at Draco, he was staring with a small smirk that immediately put Harry on the defensive.

"What? What's that smile for?"

"Nothing." He gave a small cough. "Why are you here?"

"I just… wanted to apologize for what happened the other day. I was a jackass and I'm sorry."

"What else?"

"…um?"

"You didn't come down here to give me two sentences. You wouldn't have come inside my room."

Harry swallowed. "Well, erm, I was hoping that we could talk about—us."

"What about 'us'?"

"Are we still—I mean, assuming we were but—I can't really remember, but it makes sense—I mean—"

"Stop."

Harry stopped and bit his lip. Not for the first time, he wished he could Apparate on Hogwarts grounds.

"As far as I'm concerned, Harry, we stopped being a couple the day the icicle hit you. It's hard to be in a relationship with someone in a coma, let alone someone who remembers you as his childhood enemy."

"Oh." Harry couldn't think of anything to say.

"However, if you want me to try to help you get your memory back again—as long as you're willing to do it without being an overdramatic egomaniac—I'm willing to do so."

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched in a smile. "Really?"

"Yes, really." Draco smiled.

"Now get out and let me finish wanking. Unless you want to lend a hand, that is."

Harry's face burned as the signs clicked into place. The state of the room made sense now. He left the room without another word, feeling Draco's laugh chasing him out.


	17. Chapter 16

"Stop it, stop it! What are you doing?"

Harry froze, fingers on the top button of his shirt. "Um… taking off my shirt?"

"That wasn't the deal. One memory for one article of clothing. Your clothes count too."

"They do? Come on. That's not fair. That's twice as many clothes."

Draco smiled. "I know that."

Harry huffed and slumped into the chair in the corner of Draco's room. "I'll never remember that many things."

Draco sat back on his heels among the green sheets of his bed, coyly—albeit absentmindedly—biting a single index finger. He removed it from his mouth briefly to speak, resting his other hand on a bare hip.

"You're not going to give up just like that, are you?"

An image sprang into Harry's mind, accompanied by a whispered sentence: Draco sitting across the Great Hall from him, finger in his mouth. The voice sounded like it was a secret spoken into an ear. Harry smiled and felt a blush creep across his neck.

"You used to do that—bite your finger—when you, um wanted to…"

A mischievous smile lit on Draco's face. "Yes—?"

"You know."

"Yes I do, but that's not the game. You have to say it for it to count."

Harry blushed harder and glared.

"Harry, you've got to work with me here. You said you wanted motivation, so here it is. And it's not as though you haven't said those words a hundred times, let alone—"

"Suck my cock," Harry blurted.

A smirk. "Gladly, but not until you've got my clothes off."

"Well, this time, I want my shirt off. It's getting kind of warm in here," Harry said, returning to his buttons and pulling off his shirt.

"I agree. Would you hurry up so I can get these blasted trousers off?"

The way Draco's mouth formed the syllables of 'trousers' with utter contempt sparked another memory for Harry. It had been a common occurrence for Harry those past several days, spending time with Draco. He would remember flashes of the past, single moments in time triggered by something the other boy said or did. But they were simply fragments, puzzle pieces to the mysterious mosaic whole; he never got back more than hours at a stretch.

"I have two things," Harry said. "Number one—and I will have my socks off for this—you refuse to celebrate Christmas because it's 'too Muggle.' You celebrate Yule."

Malfoy gestured for Harry to proceed removing his socks.

"Number two. I got you a pair of trousers as a Yuletide gift as a joke." He paused. "They were vintage, gold, and one of the most hideous things I'd ever seen."

Draco nodded. "I promptly threw them in the fireplace. Can I liberate my legs now?"

Harry looked contemplative for a moment, as if in deep thought, tapping his own trousers in consideration. Finally, he said, "I suppose so."

Watching the other boy rip off the offending cloth, he tried to remember something else with which to buy more bared skin. He drew a blank.

"I can't think of anything else," he said.

Draco tutted. "Such a shame. We were almost to the good part."

He was now sitting on the edge of the bed, legs open and hand resting between them. His pose drew Harry's gaze to the good part and it was a natural progression to the next memory.

"Oh. Well. Um." Harry felt the blush start up again. He bit his lip.

"Your cock curves upward."

"Of all the things to remember—"

"Hush. And get naked."

Draco obliged, returning to lie down on the bed on his stomach. His eyes were sparkling and his ankles were crossed in the air like a catty child at a sleepover. Harry was reminded of his other good parts, namely those which were now exposed and looking invitingly round.

Harry stood and began to unbutton, feeling strangely more comfortable than he had before. He said, "Our first time, I fucked you."

He let his underwear slip down to the ground as well and strode over to the bed.

"Cheater," Draco whispered, looking up at him and scooting to a kneeling position.

"You told me it was your first time with a boy," Harry replied, pressing their mouths together.

Harry had thought the contact of their chests had been sweet; this time, it was bare skin on bare skin from kneecap to nose. As before, he began to remember what it had been like all the other times they had touched like that. The effect, whether it was arousal, anxiety, or joy, was exhilarating. It was like he was being giving injections of distilled emotion; they pulsed through his system, quickened his breath.

"Did I?" Draco asked.

"Mm," Harry confirmed. "You'll have to find another excuse this time."

"Excuse—for—what?" Draco said, punctuating each word with a kiss on Harry's neck.

"For being absolutely rubbish at snogging," Harry said as he grabbed the other boy's ass.

"I am not!"

"I suppose you're just perfecting a method of finding out what I had for breakfast yesterday, then?"

"Right. Talking time's over, Potter."

"Why is that you always call me 'Potter' when you get—oh."

Harry cut off abruptly, feeling a hand on his stiffening cock. But there was something else. He closed his eyes and when he opened them, the world was blurry. A dull pain started in his temples and grew to a throbbing pressure.

"Ow. Fuck."

"What's wrong?"

Harry took off his glasses with one hand and squeezed the bridge of his nose with the other. His glasses tumbled from his fingers. His vision was sharper than he could ever remember it being. In front of him, Draco gave him a concerned look, but in his mind's eye he saw another Draco whispering three words.

"Too many memories for one day," Harry said. His coma-fatigue was seeping into his joints again, into his tendons and under his eyelids. He closed his eyes.

"Harry?"

"I just need to sleep for a while."

Harry felt soft sheets settle over him, then nothing.


	18. Chapter 17

"Harry," a voice crooned.

Harry whipped his head around, looking for the source, but it was futile; everything was utterly dark. He wobbled and it seemed as though the lack of vision was throwing off his balance, but under his feet he felt a single taut wire. He was on a tightrope.

"Ha-rry—"

The voice was coming from in front of him. He took a cautious step, arms wide for balance.

"Harry."

The voice was increasing in urgency. He took another step. Pause. Another.

"Harry!"

The voice moved. It was coming from his left. He reached out, but felt nothing. Then a hand gripped his arm, pulled him off-balance. His feet slipped and he felt himself beginning to topple.

"Harry? Finally. You are really hard to wake in the morning, you know that?"

Harry opened his eyes wider and discovered Draco's face hovering above his own. The dream was already slipping away.

"Your eyes are really grey in the morning, you know that?"

Draco smiled and leaned down to kiss Harry.

"Get up, Mr Sweet-talker. Let's go to breakfast. I'm starving."

It was Harry's turn to smile.

"Huh. I just remembered. You used to call me 'Harry-bear.' What kind of pet name is that?"

"Fuck off, Potter. As I recall, you enjoyed it."

"Do I get a piece of clothing for that?" Harry asked. He was still naked under the sheets, but Draco had slipped on a pair of pajama bottoms.

"Not now, 'Harry-bear.' Like I said, I want breakfast."

"What a coincidence!" Harry said. "I've got some morning wood right here that should satisfy your appetite just fine."

Draco rolled his eyes and threw Harry a mock-disgusted look. "You can have five minutes to take care of that however you want. I'm going to the bathroom."

With that, he left the room, but not before Harry caught him muttering, "I'd forgotten how foxy you are in the morning."

Harry studied the tenting in the sheets and decided to ignore it and get dressed. Knowing Draco, he'd plan to come back sooner than he'd said so he could catch Harry red-handed.

Right on schedule, the Slytherin reentered the room not more than two minutes later, looking expectantly at the bed. Instead, he found Harry sitting on the dresser, fully clothed and smirking slightly. Harry raised a single eyebrow at the other boy.

"Five minutes, yeah?"

"Right." Draco coughed. "Let me get dressed and we can go."

As they were walking to the Great Hall, Harry asked, "So, what if I remember something in the middle of a meal? Will you take something off then?"

"Oh, Merlin. Maybe that game was a bad idea. I should've known you were going to take it too far."

"Okay, fine, I won't make you strip at breakfast. But I am keeping a tally."

Draco sighed. Another thought occurred to Harry.

"What if I get more tallies than what we have on, collectively?"

"Then I will personally pat you on the back and say 'good job.'"

"No need to be rude."

The couple were finishing up their breakfast when Draco noticed Ron and Hermione entering the Great Hall. They waved at Harry, who was sitting at the Slytherin table, but continued to the Gryffindor table and sat down.

"They'd still rather sit apart from me than sit with you, eh?" Draco asked.

"It's not like that. I think they just want to give us our own time together. Heaven knows they must be enjoying theirs. I think they got used to me being out of the way when I was in the infirmary."

"What do they think of us being together again?"

"Hermione is still a little a resistant, I think, but they both know this is the happiest I've been since the accident. They're good friends. They're happy that I'm happy."

"You have no idea how lucky you are."

"I think I do," said Harry softly.

Draco smiled. "I did a little bit of research in the library recently, and—"

Harry jerked as though he were startled. "Hermione? Where did you come from? I could swear Draco was here a second ago."

Draco pushed him lightly. "And I found out that smells and sounds can sometimes be better for recalling memories than sight. I was thinking today we could go to a couple places we shared and try to trigger memories that way."

"Where to first?"

"Why not start at the beginning?"

Draco shut the wooden door behind them and Harry stared at their surroundings in horror.

"Oh my god. This is disgusting. Did we really have sex in here?"

"More than once."

"Eugh. There is dust hanging from the ceiling. Dust. Hanging. Dust is not supposed to hang."

"Hey, don't knock the dust. That's heirloom dust. That dust has probably been here longer than any of the professors."

"Stop it, you're not helping."

Draco put a pair of comforting arms around Harry's waist. "Okay. Try to relax."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The dusty smell tickled his nose.

"I'm not feeling anything."

But the next breath brought a new smell, buried under the dust and mold. It was faint, but distinctly leather.

And he remembered.

"Jesus Christ."

"What?"

"I can remember."

"Prove it."

"Okay," Harry said. "Two words: Mrs Norris."

Draco let out a cackle. "That was bloody terrifying the first time around, but hilarious in retrospect."

"Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Why was there leather in here?"

This time it was a giggle.

"There was a flogger. You don't remember?"

"…should I?"

"Not like that," Draco said. "I just happened to notice it when we were making our getaway. It was gone the next time we came in here. I suspect Filch took it for private use."

"Ew."

"Exactly."

"Okay, I can imagine there could be plenty of opportunity for lost memory here, but is it really necessary to be naked?"

Draco nodded. "You won't get the full experience standing outside the door. The sound of the water is different in here."

Harry finished stripping and stepped into the showers of the Quidditch pitch changing rooms, where Draco had already started up a few showerheads to get the room warm and steamy.

"You are cruel," Harry said, gazing at the water shimmering on Draco's muscled curves. The glimmer of his skin begged Harry to press his own against it.

"Anything?" Draco asked, ignoring him.

"Not yet," Harry said.

"Try standing under the water and closing your eyes. Concentrate on the sound of the shower."

Harry did so, but nothing came to him.

"Still nothing," he said.

Draco thought for a moment. "Fuck. I should've brought my soap. Maybe the smell would have helped. Oh well. Come scrub my back, would you?"

Harry opened his eyes and said, "I thought we were here on business. 'No time to fool around,' you said."

"Harry, know this—when I want to fuck, I will let you know. Until then, my back could use a good scrubbing." Draco turned to stand with his back to Harry and looked over his shoulder with a pleading expression.

"Who said I was talking about sex?" Harry asked.

"Your hard-on did," Draco said. "Are you going to scrub my back or am I going to go get my loofah?"

Harry smiled guiltily and stepped forward.

"You have a loofah in the Quidditch changing rooms?"


	19. Chapter 18

"So by my count, the total today is eleven," Harry said as he walked into Draco's room.

"Let's see. I have two shoes, two socks, a robe, a tie, a shirt, trousers, and underwear. That's nine. You can take off your shoes, I suppose?"

"Didn't we say that clothing worn in pairs count as one and not two?"

Draco arched an eyebrow and said, "You're trying to change the rules in the middle of the game. That's not allowed."

Harry planted a kiss on his lips. "It was never a rule that I couldn't."

"Coercion isn't allowed either."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, tugged Draco's shirt free of his pants, slipping his hands up along his waist.

"You have been spending way too much time with me."

"Not possible."

Draco studied Harry's face, eyes staring earnestly back at him.

"Harry, what happened last night? You practically collapsed in my arms, you were out cold, and this morning you wouldn't wake."

"I—" The incident hadn't crossed Harry's mind since it happened.

_I love you._

"It was—it was nothing. After the coma, physical exertion didn't bother me much, but sometimes remembering things would exhaust me. I think it was just too much at once."

"Why are you lying to me?" Draco's voice was cool, neither angry nor disappointed.

"What?"

"Come on, Harry. You've never been hard to read, and I still remember your tells. You don't remember how to hide them from me."

"I just need some time to think about it, okay?"

"Okay," Draco said.

Harry took a deep breath and tried to think about something else. "So, if I'm not allowed to coerce you, I think you should at least help me out."

"Since we already tried sounds and smells today, let's try something else. Mundane and repetitive tasks are also supposed to help jog your memory."

"Do you have something in mind?"

Draco pulled out his wand. "Another game, but much simpler. I levitate objects. You stop them before they hit the floor."

"What, like catching them?"

"Not quite. A Freezing Charm."

"Oh," Harry said, remembering the Charms class before he ran into Draco in the showers. "I think I can do it wandlessly."

"Really?" Draco sounded surprised. "Let's do it, then."

Harry watched as a book levitated from Draco's nightstand to hover near the ceiling. Without warning, it dropped and hit the floor with a thunk.

"Harry, you're supposed to stop it."

"I thought you were going to warn me before you dropped it!"

"Where's the fun in that?" Draco asked, and the book, which had floated back up, dropped again. Thunk.

Harry pursed his lips. He stared at the book, watching it rise. He thought about how he had frozen the jawbreaker and did the same for the book, picturing it hanging motionless midair.

The book fell. Harry focused. Just before it hit the ground for the third time, it paused. It hung for a second before coming to a rest on the floor again.

"Close," Draco remarked. He pointed his wand at the dresser. A drawer opened to let a balled-up sock float out, followed by a second.

Harry concentrated harder. It seemed like there had been something more in the classroom. He watched the socks fall, the second trailing the first by a moment. These, too, he managed to pause near the floor, but they fell after a second.

"This game seems familiar," Harry said.

"It should."

The socks levitated again. This time, the first froze in place about a foot from the ground, but the second thudded on the floor.

"Good," Draco said. "Now get ready."

Waving his wand as though he were scooping objects up with a net, he lifted an array of objects to the ceiling. Quills hovered next to candles. One by one, the floating objects began to drop at random. Harry was absolutely focused; for every two objects he was able to freeze, another hit the floor. They would soon rise back to the ceiling. Soon there was a field of gravity-defying objects around the room.

After about twenty minutes, Harry managed to freeze the last object, a particularly fluttery quill.

"Well done. You still don't remember anything, though?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Maybe it's not the right time. I have good days and bad days. Some days I remember more than others."

"I would have thought this was a good day," Draco said.

"Why?"

"Because you haven't needed your glasses all day."

"What do you mean?" Harry said. "I always need my glasses. They're—"

"—on the nightstand where I put them last night."

So they were. Harry felt his vision sliding out of focus and the world went fuzzy. Again, he was reminded of his memory from the night before. Just before it resurfaced, he had been able to see without his glasses. He felt a rising wave of frustration at his faulty memory.

"Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

Harry saw the blur that was Draco step towards him and felt a pair of arms wrap around him.

"Questions of that magnitude are best tackled on a good night's rest, I find. We can talk about it in the morning."

Harry sighed. "Okay."

Only as his eyes were drooping and his breathing dropping off into the even rhythms of sleep did Harry remember the image of the rocks in the water. His arm tightened around Draco's waist and sleep took him before he remembered more.


	20. Chapter 19

Harry cracked open his eyes and stretched, feeling the empty bed around him. Slowly, he rolled over and reached for his glasses on the nightstand. His hand passed through empty air.

"Hm?" Had someone moved his furniture?

His eyes opened more and he noticed the room was oddly green. He noticed the nightstand on the other side of the bed. He rolled over again and found his glasses this time. When he slipped them on, he groaned.

_I have good days and bad days._

It wasn't hard to guess it was a bad day when he couldn't even remember falling asleep in Draco's room. Mentally backtracking, he realized he had awoken in an empty bed. He glanced around the room and found Draco asleep in the chair, head leaned back, mouth open, and blond hair askew.

Harry tried and failed to remember Draco leaving the bed. He went back further and looked for confirmation that they had, in fact, both fallen asleep in the bed. Everything was so fuzzy; he could barely recall last evening. Maybe it would be better after he had been awake longer.

He noticed the floor was littered with clothing and books. He could vaguely remember freezing them midair. Perhaps the sounds of the objects falling had roused Draco.

Looking closer, he saw that one of the books wasn't a textbook. It looked more like a journal. Harry quietly climbed out of bed and knelt on the floor to look at it. It was definitely Draco's—the leather was embossed with 'DM.' Opening it to the inside cover, he read, "Property of Draco Malfoy."

He opened it to the first entry. It was dated in June. He flipped to the last entry and read the date for two days ago. This was a current journal.

Harry closed his eyes. It was probably an extremely private matter for Draco. He'd never mentioned the journal before as far as Harry could remember. He should close the book and leave it there.

On the other hand, it could offer valuable insights and memories about their time together before Harry's accident. It was tempting.

"In my experience, reading works better with your eyes open."

Harry opened his eyes. Draco was eyeing him from the chair.

"Oh. Um. I wasn't reading it."

"You were thinking about it."

"Yes," Harry admitted.

Draco stood and yawned, reaching for the ceiling. "If we were to spend the next thirty years together, Harry, I still would not understand you."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, closing the journal and letting it slide to the floor.

"Maybe it has to do with your Gryffindor sense of morality. Last night you made up a lie that was just as see-through as 'I wasn't thinking about reading it' would have been, but this morning you decide to tell the truth."

"Maybe I'm just a bad judge of which lies I can get away with," Harry said.

Draco knelt in front of Harry so that they were face to face. He gave Harry a searching look. "Totally unfathomable."

Without warning, Draco's expression triggered a vivid flashback in Harry. Draco was still there, but his expression was altered; the searching was mixed with fear and desperation.

In the background, someone spoke. "Well, Draco? Is it? Is it Harry Potter?"

"I can't—I can't be sure."

Harry started and flinched violently away from Draco. He blinked and the vision was gone, but his heart was racing and he felt confined.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Draco asked, reaching out to him.

"Don't!" Harry knew he was being irrational, that the boy in front of him was changed, but he couldn't stop himself. "Don't touch me."

Draco retracted his arms, looking stung. His eyes were sad as he said, "I'm not going to hurt you."

"I need—" Harry could feel himself starting to hyperventilate. "I need to leave."

"Of course you do."

Harry flinched again. The thirty seconds it took him to throw on his clothes were agonizing. He ran out and away. He needed to be outside.

When Harry's frantic pace finally slowed to a walk, his ears were already going numb in the cold. He wasn't wearing his normal winter gear; already, the dry, gusty air was leeching away his warmth.

He looked up and saw he was nearing the shore of the Lake. The ice was dark and transparent, uncovered by snow. He took a few steps out onto the frozen surface and peered down, but the water was midnight blue and unrevealing.

Travelling parallel to the shoreline, Harry walked over an area where the ice wasn't clear. There were whitish pockets that looked like air bubbles clustered in a group of twenty or thirty, trapped just under the surface of the ice. Through the distorted ice, he saw that the bubbles weren't empty.

A wave of déjà vu washed through Harry. He looked up at the shore; it looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. He looked back at the ice. The distortion removed the details, but in the bubbles there appeared to be…

_Stones. Harry tossed them from hand to hand, feeling the differences in texture and weight. One of them was circular and flat—ideal for skipping—but the skein of ice over the Lake made that impossible._

_Beside him, Draco brandished his wand. "Ready?"_

_Harry released the stones to the ground, leaving a small brown one fitted perfectly into his palm. "Ready."_

_Stones from the shore soared up into the air above the Lake. After a moment of hesitation, they began dropping one by one towards the thin film of ice, leaving jagged gaps in their wake. But as soon as they broke through the ice, they stopped moving, frozen in place. After a couple minutes, the last rock had dropped and frozen._

"_Well done. It looks like you got them all."_

"_Of course I did," Harry said._

"_How long will the Charm last?" Draco asked._

"_Trust me; it's set pretty tight. It'll be a while."_

_Draco smiled and leaned over to kiss Harry on the lips. When they broke apart, he brought a hand up to cup a ruddy cheek._

"_I love you."_

Harry blinked and jerked his head up, trying to absorb the details of the flashback. He was kneeling on the ice; his knees were numb and starting to get wet and his fingertips were burning where they had steadied him on the cold surface.

Hearing the sounds of rocks clicking together, Harry looked up. Draco was standing on the shore.

"How did you know to find me here?" Harry asked.

"I didn't."

"Then why are you here?"

"I'm trying to remind myself why I continue to subject myself to you."

_Ouch_. "Is it working?"

"I don't know."

For a few moments, Draco simply stared out over the Lake. Then he turned on his heel and started walking back towards the castle. Before long, he was simply a dark speck on the snow-whitened slope.


	21. Chapter 20

When Harry finally made it back to the Gryffindor tower, he was mostly thawed out, though he still couldn't feel his ears or the tip of his nose. The roaring fire in the fireplace of the common room looked extremely inviting, but he wanted to be alone. He headed for his room.

When he opened the door, he discovered he wouldn't be alone after all. Ron was lying on his own bed, on his side and facing the door.

"Oh! Harry. Erm. Hello. I wasn't expecting you."

"Hi, Ron," Harry said, collapsing into his own bed.

"Are you all right, mate?"

"Fine. Just a bit cold."

Harry slowly wriggled out of his cloak and pulled off his shoes. He crawled under his sheets and curled up, trying to get warm again.

He looked up when he heard the door open. In came a flushed Hermione, hair looking even more out of control than usual. She, too, was surprised to see Harry.

"Oh, um, hi, Harry. I didn't think you'd be here today. Um."

Harry looked at them. Ron was standing awkwardly near the foot of his own bed, leaning against one of the posts. Hermione was still lingering near the door with her arms folded, one hand trying to smooth her hair.

"Oh," Harry said. He climbed back out from under the sheets and picked up his shoes.

"Oh, Harry, you don't have to leave," Hermione said. "We can hang out or—"

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said, slipping his cloak on again. He moved to leave, but paused in the doorway.

"Just, please... don't have sex on my bed," he said, and left, smirking a little as he imagined Ron's acute embarrassment and Hermione's shock.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs and wondered where to go. No doubt Draco wanted some space for the time being—and Harry wasn't ready to face him yet, anyways. He decided to wander for a while without a destination in mind. Perhaps something would strike his fancy.

As he passed what he assumed was an empty classroom, he heard a raucous banging coming from inside. Curious, he cracked open the door. The room was empty but for a wardrobe in the corner. The noise had to have come from there.

He shut the door behind him and crossed to the wardrobe. Cautiously, he pulled on the handle. It was locked.

"Alohomora!" he said, pointing his wand at the lock. It clicked.

He pulled on the handle again. The doors flew open, knocking into him and sending him sprawling backwards. He clambered to his feet, eyes widening in horror. Out of the wardrobe a ghastly sight was floating. Scabbed, skeletal hands gripped the doors; the hooded head drifted from side to side as a shark sniffing for a drop of blood.

Instinctively, Harry reached for a happy memory. He thought of the day Hagrid found him, gave him his Hogwarts letter.

"Expecto patronum!"

Instead of a silver stag, all that his wand produced was a wispy, shiny mist. He needed something stronger. He thought of the day he discovered the truth about Sirius. When Ron and Hermione first kissed. Knowing what he had with Draco was real.

"Expecto patronum!"

This time, the stag burst forth, cantering around the small room. It tossed the dementor with its antlers before coming to a rest in front of Harry. For a moment, it stared into his eyes. Then it ran through the wall, out into the open air, and disappeared.

Harry looked back at the wardrobe. The dementor lay in a heap in the bottom. It was then that Harry realized he had never felt the chill or creeping sadness dementors always brought with them. And this one had been in a wardrobe.

He laughed, feeling foolish. It was a boggart. The creature cringed at the sound.

Harry imagined the wispy form being sucked into a vacuum cleaner and said, "Riddikulus!"

The creature transformed into the image in his mind's eye; he laughed again and with a bang, the wardrobe doors shut and locked.

Harry's thoughts drifted back to the memories he'd used—the last one he'd used. He could no longer recall the specific moment to mind, but it had been there when he had needed it.

_Knowing what he had with Draco was real._

He wondered when that moment had come. Was it before or after they had fucked in the broom closet? During the summer or back at Hogwarts? In class, maybe, or kissing in the hallway, or reading a letter at 12 Grimmauld Place?

_Shit_, Harry thought. _I need to talk to him._

Once more, Harry found himself knocking on Draco's door. He could faintly hear the rustle of cloth behind the door. Then it opened.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Can I come in?" Harry asked.

Draco eyed him with hesitation.

"Please. I want to talk to you."

"Yes," Draco said. "That's what I'm afraid of."

He stepped back and pulled the door open. "Come in."

Harry stepped in and shut the door behind him. The floor had been cleaned of the scattered clothes and books. In fact, it looked meticulously clean; the clothes were all piled neatly or put away, the books placed in perfectly square stacks, and the bed had been made, though the quilt was rumpled.

"Erm," Harry said. "Did I, ah, interrupt you again?"

"Is that really what you wanted to talk about?" Draco asked.

"No..."

"Well, then. But for the record, yes, you did."

"Um." Harry didn't know where to start.

"Try 'I'm sorry,'" Draco suggested.

"I am sorry, Draco. I know this ordeal can't have been easy for you. I know it must seem like I'm always running away. I don't know what happened this morning. I had this flashback to when Voldemort was alive, when I was in your Manor. I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn't stop. I had to get some space."

"You could have at least told me what was going on," Draco said. He sighed. "But I'm sorry, too. As hard as this has been for me, it's probably been twice as confusing and difficult for you. Patience has never been one of my strong suits."

Harry smiled. "Are we on the same page now?"

"I think so."

"Good. Because I'm ready to take you up on your offer."

Draco frowned. "Which offer is that?"

"You know—the offer for me to give you a hand."

The frown melted into a devious grin. "You _have_ been spending too much time with me."

"'Talking time's over,'" Harry quoted, stepping over to Draco.

Their mouths met. This time the silence was mutual.


	22. Chapter 21

Their bodies collided with verve. Harry found what little hesitation he had slipping away; Draco responded with equal enthusiasm, pulling Harry's waist into his own while Harry's hands threaded through blond hair.

Kissing wouldn't satisfy them for long, however. Harry ground his hips against Draco's, feeling his erection through their trousers, but he wanted more.

Harry pulled Draco's head back, breaking their kiss, but moved his lips to the other boy's neck. As he was doing this, he also pushed Draco's hastily-donned robes off his bare shoulders.

"A bit impatient, are we?" Draco asked.

Harry grunted noncommittally, gently nipping the skin of the adam's apple as his fingers moved on to Draco's zipper.

"Hey, wait," Draco said. "You still have all your clothes on."

"So?" Harry murmured against Draco's collarbone.

"Isn't this a bit unfair?"

"No."

Harry's hand slipped into Draco's trousers, brushing against his coarse hair before it found his hard-on. It fit in his palm comfortably; it felt familiar.

"I think my bad day is turning into a good day," Harry said, and he knew Draco understood his double meaning.

"You used to say it 'felt right' in your hand," Draco said, rocking his hips.

"It does," Harry replied with a kiss.

"Mm. I think I would agree."

Harry lightly stroked Draco's cock while Draco unbuttoned his shirt.

"Goddammit," Draco swore. "You always wear so many buttons."

Frustrated, he ripped Harry's shirt open the rest of the way, popping off a few buttons.

"Hey!" Harry protested; Draco was already tugging it off.

"You can repair it later. Come here."

Draco guided Harry over to the bed, where he shoved him onto his back. He quickly tore off his shoes and socks, then started on his trousers.

Harry laughed. "I'm the impatient one?"

"Shut up. It's been a long few weeks."

"I think you mean 'I'm horny.'"

Draco stopped. "Ooh, but this is nice. Do you remember this?"

He lowered his head to Harry's groin. His face was obscured from Harry's vision, but he heard the sound of his zipper being drawn down.

"Did you just do that with your teeth?"

"I can do so much more with them, Potter, if you take your fucking clothes off."

Harry lifted his hips to allow his trousers to slide down. "Are you always this rude to people you fuck?"

"Only the ones I like," Draco said, pulling off Harry's trousers.

"Seems like a backwards sort of logic," Harry said as Draco climbed on top of him.

"If I were being logical," Draco said, kissing Harry, "I wouldn't be fucking you at all."

"If you were being logical, you would have taken off my underwear when you were down there," Harry said.

"Just be careful with your teeth," he added as Draco moved to do as he suggested.

Draco slipped the underwear off, but when he took Harry's hard-on in his hand, something occurred to Harry.

"Wait, Draco." He propped up on his elbows to look down at the other boy.

"Yes?"

"How far is this—are we—gonna go?"

"Why?"

"I was thinking we could, um, take this to the shower. I just feel sort of dirty."

"Trust me, it fades after the first or second time."

"I'm serious!"

Draco sighed and stood. "Okay. Let's go, then."

"What, like this?"

"It's just across the hall and no one ever comes down this way, so I think we'll be safe."

"What if there's someone in there?"

Draco leaned down and took Harry's hand, pulling him to his feet. "No one else uses that bathroom."

"Okay."

Quietly, the pair opened the door and snuck across the hall into the bathroom.

"Holy shit, Draco, this bathroom is massive!"

"Perks."

"Of having money."

"Naturally."

While Draco turned on the shower and started adjusting the temperature, Harry studied the rest of the room. Everything was in shades of blue and green, giving a distinct underwater impression; appropriate, since they were under the Lake.

"Draco... is this what I think it is?" Harry was holding a small clear bottle of a slightly viscous liquid.

Draco glanced over his shoulder. "If you think it's lube, then yes."

"You keep lube in your bathroom?"

"Doesn't everyone?"

"No."

"Come on. Water's ready."

Harry stepped into the shower. He picked up an orange bottle and flipped open the cap.

"So this is where the citrus smell comes from," he said.

"It's my shampoo," Draco said.

Harry picked up another bottle. A generic, soapy smell. He offered it to Draco.

"Would you do the honors?"

Draco smiled and took the bottle, pouring a small amount of the liquid into his palm. He rubbed his hands together and eyed Harry critically. Then he began to rub it over his skin, leaving trails of bubbles behind.

"Oh my god," Harry said. The sensation was incredibly erogenous. "Remind me to do this more often."

"Arms up," Draco said. He began to scrub Harry's armpits. His hands trailed down Harry's sides, past his cock begging for attention, to his legs. He knelt on the tile and cleaned them one by one.

When he finished with the legs, he said, "Turn around."

Harry did so and felt Draco's hands pass over his back. One of them drifted down and dipped into Harry's crack, caressing his cheeks.

His hands disappeared and he said, "Tilt your head back."

Draco poured some of his citrus shampoo into his hands and began kneading it into Harry's hair. He pressed into Harry, massaging his scalp, and Harry could feel Draco's erection pressing into his back. He pushed his butt out, teasing.

Draco practically growled. "Are you clean now?"

"I think so," Harry said with a smirk, stepping into the stream of water to wash himself off.

When he stepped out of the shower, he found Draco had already dried himself off and was offering Harry a large, fluffy towel. In return, Harry offered an arm; Draco began drying him off. After a minute, Harry was almost completely dry; Draco was kneeling and finishing up his backside.

When the towel dropped to the floor, Harry moved to turn around, but Draco stopped him. He felt a pair of hands run up his legs, grip his arse; then he felt Draco's head move closer.

"Uh, Draco? What are you—" He cut off when something wet and warm pressed against his hole. Instinctively, he rolled his hips into the contact, leaning forward and bracing himself against the wall.

"Nevermind," Harry squeaked.

Draco continued lapping at Harry, who could feel his muscles relaxing, becoming more pliant. His erection began to throb, demanding attention. Finally, his desire overwhelmed his pleasure.

"Please, Draco."

Draco pulled back. "What?"

"Fuck me already, would you?"

Draco smirked. "Finally, he asks."

He stood and picked up the bottle of lube, pouring it onto his fingertips. Gently, he massaged it into Harry's puckered hole.

"Ready?" he whispered.

"Yes."

Draco poured out more lube, this time spreading it over his own cock. Guiding himself with his hand, he began pressing into Harry. Harry pressed back, allowing the head of his dick to slip inside. Slowly pushing forward, the blond slid in, inch by inch, until he could go no further.

"Fuck," Harry said.

"All right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, wiggling his hips, feeling Draco inside him. "It feels kinda weird. But kinda nice, too."

"I think we can do better than that," said Draco, easing his hips back and forth.

Harry concentrated on the sensations, and he could remember fragments of other times; he could remember how good it could feel. He pushed back against Draco again, this time with more force, as if issuing a challenge.

"Better?" Draco asked, his easing turning into thrusts.

"Oh yeah," Harry replied. The odd feeling was melting away, being replaced by intense sensations of fullness, of pressure. He reached down to grasp his cock, but Draco beat him to it.

"Let me do that," he said, timing the strokes evenly with his thrusts.

"Fuck me," Harry moaned. He closed his eyes in the tide of sensations welling within him. Each thrust was another wave of pleasure.

Draco continued at the same pace. "This was how you used to like it, but it might have changed—"

"Just keep going," Harry said. "I'm close."

Inside him, the distinct, pre-orgasm feeling was rising. One last stroke sent him over the edge. He came with a grunt, biting his lip as ropes of cum shot over Draco's fingers and onto the discarded towel on the floor.

"Fuck," Draco said. "Where should I come?"

"Inside."

With a final thrust, Draco came hard and deep. After a moment, he took a deep breath and slid out. Harry turned and gave him a kiss.

"I think I've gone and gotten myself dirty again," he said.

"You are fooling yourself if you think I'm going to clean you twice in one day," Draco said.

Harry smiled and stepped into the shower. "I'll be waiting."


	23. Chapter 22

The sun was bright, glimmering off the reflective surface of the Lake. Harry had to squint his eyes to see. There, a few yards above the surface, hovered a collection of small stones, falling and breaking through the ice one at a time. Each time a new hole appeared, the world got brighter, until it was verging on blinding.

Harry turned his face away from the Lake, trying to ward off the intense light. Someone was there, had been standing behind him; the sun shone in Harry's eyes and hid the person's face. They said something, but Harry couldn't hear them. The light got brighter; the world was white, with a scant few shadows at the edges.

Harry stumbled on a rock at his feet. Again, the person spoke. As Harry broke through the crust of ice, his vision whited out.

"Wake up."

Harry bunched his face against the light of the room. He said, "I'm awake."

"Wake up—wake up."

"I said I'm awake," Harry said. He opened his eyes. Above him was the canopy of Draco's bed, enchanted to mimic the cycles of the sun rising and setting in brightness. Draco claimed it woke him up in a better mood; Harry optimistically decided not to argue.

He turned his head and found Draco mumbling in his sleep. Harry gently squeezed his arm.

"Wake up, Draco."

Draco started awake, looking anxious. "Harry?"

"Bad dream?" Harry asked, smiling.

Draco stared at him, their faces inches apart. After a moment, he relaxed.

"Something like that."

Harry gave him a light kiss on the tip of the nose. "All better?"

Again, Draco stared, appearing tense.

"What?"

"It's nothing. You just haven't acted like this since... you know."

_Wake up—wake up._

Harry remembered his dream.

"Jesus."

"What?"

"Somehow," Harry said, "I'd almost forgotten about '...you know.'"

Harry retraced his path to wakefulness before he continued, trying to recall more. "But you reminded me of the dream I was having before I woke up. I have someplace I want to visit with you."

"Okay," Draco said, sitting up. His face was still slightly concerned.

"Why so serious?" Harry asked. "Do you need some cheering up?"

Draco looked over at Harry with a small smirk on his face. "Okay, you've convinced me. We had sex last night and you're already horny again. You're fine."

Harry sniffed haughtily and rolled out of bed. "I'll take that as a no."

"Wait, Harry, look; I'm positively morose."

Harry slipped on a pair of trousers. "I'll give you five minutes while I go to the bathroom."

He fully expected Draco to still be pouting in bed when he returned three or four minutes later. Draco was still in bed, but he wasn't pouting. Sitting with his back against the headboard and his eyes closed, he had one hand on his erection and the other between his legs, gripping his balls. As Harry watched, he finished himself off, messing his stomach with jizz.

Harry began to clap slowly. Draco jumped and opened his eyes.

"You call that five minutes?" he demanded.

Harry could only laugh as Draco glowered at him. Harry picked up a discarded piece of clothing from the floor and tossed it to Draco.

"Clean up and let's go."

Draco muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "Muggle" as he grabbed his wand from the nightstand. He pointed it at his stomach and said, "Evanesco."

Harry looked at his clothes lying wrinkled on the floor.

"Erm, Draco, do you have something I could wear?"

"You'll have to go nude," Draco said tersely.

"Draco-o..."

He sighed. "I'm sure there's something in the chest of drawers."

Harry opened a few drawers and poked through them. He slipped on a pair of trousers and a green jumper. When he turned around, Draco was staring at him once more.

"You can't go outside like that."

"Why not?"

"You'll be arrested!"

Harry frowned and looked down. "Well, the trousers are a bit tight, but your legs are skinnier than mine."

"'A bit tight'? If you get hard they'll rip open."

"You're exaggerating. I think."

Draco sighed. "If you tear my jeans, you're buying me a new pair."

As the pair trudged through the snow, Draco looked worried. Harry squeezed his hand reassuringly.

"It's only one day of classes. No one's going to flunk us for one day."

"Harry, I've never wanted anything short of a full recovery for you."

"I know, Draco."

"With that in mind, I will not be disappointed if the Lake disappoints you today."

"What do you mean?"

Draco shook his head. "I'd rather not."

The sun glinted off the ice, almost as piercing as in Harry's dream. The wind was a mere suggestion of shifting snowflakes on the frozen ground, but the cold was still potent, seeping slowly into fingers and toes.

For a minute, Harry and Draco stood staring over the Lake. Harry was sure he could have gotten lost in the vastness of the barren winter scape but for Draco's hand anchoring him. He wasn't sure what he was looking for; what little of his dream he could remember was vague and unhelpful.

He bent down and picked up a stone at random, felt it pulling toward the earth. It was bitingly cold on his fingers. He turned to face Draco. Each hand was weighted down, one with a dulling chill and the other with a soft warmth. It felt right. Draco's eyes reflected the achingly empty skies.

Harry could feel the memory stirring, but it was lethargic. It needed something more.

"Say it," he said.

"Say what?" Draco asked.

"You know."

Draco glanced away; Harry felt the memory settling again.

"Please. Draco, please."

Draco took a steadying breath. His eyes were pleading.

"_I love you."_

_Harry's smile froze on his face, but Draco's was earnest, gentle. Harry's gaze slid away from Draco's face. Suddenly his focus was stuck on the Lake as sure as if he'd pressed his tongue on the ice._

"_Harry? What—"_

"_I heard you." Too late, Harry felt the harsh quality of his words. He choked them off, but they had already done their damage._

"_You 'heard' me? Merlin, Harry, if you can't say it back, that's fine, but you 'heard' me?"_

"_I—I'm—" Harry clenched his jaw. "You know how I feel about that."_

_Draco let go of Harry's hand with a look of disgust. "Yeah, and now you know how I feel, so I guess we're even. Fuck off."_

"_Gladly," Harry said, spinning on his heel and walking towards the castle. He was full of turmoil as he approached the great stone walls, but he doubted anyone inside would understand._

Harry realized he was gripping Draco's hand like a vice; the stone had long since slipped from his fingers. His focus was brought back to the present by a dull ache in the back of his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"I like to think you're a different person now," Draco said.

"I loved you too, you know," Harry said. "I think it scared me."

"And now?"

Harry thought for a beat. "Every day with you and every memory I get back make me believe I could again."

"I meant, are you scared now?" Draco said, tracing Harry's jaw with a single finger.

"No."

"Liar."

"Gryffindor," Harry corrected.

"Touché," Draco said with a smile. "Can we go back inside now? I've got something for you."

Seeing the look in Harry's eyes, he added, "Not _that_ sort of something."

"Your journal?" Harry asked, feeling the dark leather in his hands.

"Temporarily, of course."

"You really want me reading this?"

"It should help get your missing months back," Draco said. "And no, you won't be reading. It's a magical journal."

"But—it had words in it before."

"Just an illusion. It's similar to a Pensieve. It takes my memories and re-creates them as though it were an observer to my life."

Harry opened the journal. "How do I do this? Where do I start? What if... what if I remember something I don't want to remember?"

Draco took Harry's hands. One of them he placed palm-down in the journal; into the other he twined his own fingers.

"Like this. Calm your mind. Take your time.

"You start on May 19th.

"And if you ever need me, I'll be in the corner, reading my Potions textbook."

"Draco!" Harry shoved the other boy, who was smirking his signature smirk.

More seriously, Draco said, "No more running away. Either of us. Okay?"

Harry agreed. Flipping to the page for May 19, he took a deep breath and placed his hand on the softly textured paper.

"To the future!" he said, as though he were making a toast.

"And now: to the past."


End file.
